


The Future Is Not Yet Set In Stone

by angelslaugh



Series: Lingrean Rosal'sule'din [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Leliana's spies, Multi, Nevarra, Platonic Female Lavellan/Dorian, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Time Travel, Witcher Elements, and like a building, badass people of thedas, i hope you like this one, lavellan just wants sleep, like me i guess, like only a few characters are mentioned, still major male lavellan/dorian/the iron bull because why not, thought i'd make that clear in case there's an outcry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 45,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelslaugh/pseuds/angelslaugh
Summary: Three years have passed since the events of Inquisition. Solas is still working towards his goal of bringing down the veil while his love, Adhlea, tries to come to grips with what she did in those intervening three years.Then Orlais and the Qun both make bold moves, and the world shifts again.Now Adhlea has to deal with Orlais at her throat and the quickly approaching threat of the Qun as well as the actions of her Elvhen lover AND Orlais....why didn't she just become a hermit, again?
Relationships: Female Inquistor/Dorian Pavus, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Fenris/Female Hawke, Others/Female Lavellan
Series: Lingrean Rosal'sule'din [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1469309
Comments: 51
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not listing all fandoms for one reason: even in the pre-write, I haven't gotten that far. New job, weird hours. Also, Final Fantasy VII has nabbed my attention, but... please don't think I'm giving up on this storyline. This is like my child!
> 
> ...mostly because I'm single and I don't have children...
> 
> Also, when I finished posting 'It's Not Lost Until You Give Up', I figured... Hey, it's before December! Why not post the start of the next story?  
> And so I did. Please read, review, hate or love - flames will be used as cannon fodder, so there's that. *grins*

Adhlea couldn’t sleep.

Not that it was a new thing nowadays; Adhlea got up from where she’d been laying for most of the night, rubbing her forehead for a moment before hastily removing her hand.

She left her room fully dressed, watching as Skyhold came alive; while Skyhold didn’t have many active military members, it was still substantial. Not nearly as substantial as it had been previously, but then – most of them had had families to return to.

Now, it was mostly spying, trying to help stave off possible Qunari attacks, and – and yes, Adhlea hadn’t forgotten that Solas – _Fen’Harel,_ she had to remind herself – was out there, trying to rip the Veil down.

Thanks to Divine Victoria and her nearly-endless spy ring, they’d been able to hold Fen’Harel off for the past two years. Adhlea honestly couldn’t take much credit for _that,_ as she had been involved in revenge.

Not the Dalish way, she had to admit; but it _was_ Orlesian.

(That was her story. She was sticking to it.)

She smiled at the people around her as the world around her brightened. Josephine was off visiting her family in Antiva, Minaeve and Cullen were returning from their honeymoon in a week…

Everyone was off doing something else.

Vivienne had reluctantly agreed with Adhlea’s idea of a place of study – firmly put, no more Circles. Mages could police themselves, and if they didn’t… Well, that’s what the Seekers were there for.

Cassandra was deep in the Frostbacks, deeper than Skyhold; she was creating a Seeker sect that taught truth – with Ameridan’s help. Tranquility could be reversed, according to the Seeker books that she’d found, so Ameridan and her were training up some Seekers. Cassandra _was_ planning on visiting, but Adhlea wasn’t all that interested in hearing about the Seekers that much. Alexander Varan acted as liaison – and he was courting Cassandra.

Josephine remained as the Ambassador of the Inquisition, though she _did_ help keep things in order during Adhlea’s extended absence.

Hawke, Varric, and Fenris had all gone back to Kirkwall – last Adhlea heard, Varric was the new Viscount. Hawke and Fenris she hadn’t heard much about; Varaina, who had been pretty nonexistent in the Inquisition (as she’d been learning how to be a medic on the road), served as Skyhold’s best medic. Currently, she was on a ferrying mission, helping gather some herbs from around Nevarra that couldn’t be found in Ferelden and was hard to find in Orlais. Nearly impossible, unless you knew the exact lady or lord.

The Wardens had pretty much been folded into the Inquisition, mostly because nobody wanted darkspawn shit to come crawling down the mountains – if there was going to be a Blight, they still had people stationed at the Wardens’ former stronghold.

Adhlea had actually been walking into the Crossroads – the inner road of the Eluvian network – and had successfully created five new Eluvians. One went to Orlais – specifically, into the Winter Palace, which, yes, had its own dangers, but Adhlea had only given Aelon the task of guarding it and locking and unlocking it. One went to the Wardens, but only Doshiel had the password to it.

Adhlea had yet to figure out where to put the other three, but she had to be careful when she did put them somewhere. Hard enough _making_ the damned things, the last thing she wanted to do was create a problem with any of the other countries.

Cole appeared from nowhere.

“You should sleep,” he announced to her. “You don’t sleep like you should.”

Adhlea smiled at Cole. “I prefer not to dream,” she responded, “and even Minaeve’s strongest potions can’t compare to –“

She refused to say his name.

“You never got to see what he finished painting,” Cole said, tilting his head. “He always hid it with a privacy ward.”

Adhlea hadn’t been in the Rotunda since he’d left…

“Not right now, Cole.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Here.” Cole produced a potion. “It should make your sleep dreamless.”

“Cole, I appreciate –“

“I know you’re tired,” Cole interrupted. “And I know you hurt. You’re scared that if they find out that they won’t look at you the same.” He frowned. “I don’t want to tell them, but if you’re not fully rested it would be better.”

Cole vanished.

_I think I preferred it when Emmaera wasn’t teaching him subtle manipulation._

Adhlea stood and motioned to a runner.

“Cole is making me go back to sleep.” The runner blinked at her. “Anyone asks around for me, I’m asleep in my chambers.”

The runner nodded.

~:~

“High Inquisitor, I’m glad you’re back,” Dagna said with a cheeky grin. “Need anything modified for you? An Eluvian, maybe?”

Adhlea gave her a dry look, gesturing to the mirror standing in her workshop. “I already gave you one.”

“Yeah, but it’s _inert.”_ Dagna pouted. “So… what’s up?”

“I had a few ideas for some enchantments.” Adhlea set down a stack of parchment down next to Dagna; Dagna’s eyes lit up.

“Thanks!” she chirped. “How’ve things been, with those voices in your head?”

“Well, all things considered.” Adhlea cracked her neck. “Now that the Anchor is gone, I’m… better.”

She moved her arm around a bit. Dagna was one of the only ones who knew the Anchor was gone.

She’d met Fen’Harel, in the year she was in Par Vollen; he’d taken the Anchor from her in front of the Viddasala. Her arm had been _gone_ for half a year.

Then, not long after her return, he’d entered her dreams. He’d been _in her bedroom._ He’d explained _why_ he’d had to take her arm – he had no real way to remove the Anchor and keep her arm there.

Now, the arm she had was not originally hers – she did not want to know whose it had been, _if_ it had been someone else’s – but it was hers now. The Well had whispered that ‘much was possible with the orbs of the Evanuris’. Isera had mentioned, much later on, that the magic from the Anchor was probably the reason that her arm was now there. Basically, Solas gave her the Anchor in arm form.

Or something. Adhlea _really_ didn’t understand the details.

She just felt very violated that So – that Fen’Harel had been in her fucking _bedroom._ While she was _sleeping._

Half a year since, and Adhlea had felt twinges – the Anchor energy still resided in her arm. Dagna had confirmed that much, but Adhlea could no longer control rifts, make rifts, or do anything other than her usual magic with it.

For the most part – for everyone else – the Anchor was gone. Adhlea was still the Herald of Andraste (there was a fucking _statue_ of her in Val Royeaux, it was _bleh…_ though historical, too – Celene hadn’t let them take the ears and make them invisible. In fact, the ears were _very_ visible), still head of the Inquisition…

“How are the other Inquisitors doing?”

Two mages, two non-mages, and one from each race– while Adhlea remained the leader of the Inquisition, her title was High Inquisitor; Rhenak Cadash, a dwarven recruit from Orzammar who had stolen lyrium for them from the Carta, was their dwarven Inquisitor. His sister Megna ran around and was helping thwart the Carta from getting their fingers into the Inquisition. Rhenak and Megna had their own underground (no pun intended) deal going on. Orzammar wanted to trade for some elvhen goods; Adhlea had no say in what other clans did, but had strongly advised against it. Inquisitor Rhenak was among the best choices.

(A move advocated by Josephine. Trading with Orzammar couldn’t be done without scrutiny from Orlais and Ferelden – and while most templars had long since gotten past their addictions to lyrium, there was still uses for lyrium _other_ than letting templars have it. Orzammar happened to _literally_ be the only supplier. Advising against trade made it seem like she was unaware of it; Rhenak actually informed her of whatever complications that came up and she allowed him _mostly_ free reign to do what he wanted.)

Yenera Valencia – otherwise known as Yenera the Adaar – had taken her place as the non-mage of the Adaar. A startling agreement, but the Iron Bull hadn’t wanted it and the few Adaar who traveled didn’t really have the Inner Circle’s trust. Leliana had suggested Valencia as her surname because – well, ‘Yenera of Adaar’ didn’t make sense and _everyone_ had something important to them. Valencia was the name of her beloved axe (which had actually shattered during the battle with Corypheus); so Yenera Valencia she became. Inquisitor Yenera Valencia was appointed as the other non-mage.

(Yenera hadn’t had the heart to make another battle-axe like Valencia. She still mostly _wielded_ a battle-axe, but she tended to glare at it like it had personally offended her.)

Of the human mages, Elaine Trevelyan had been the best – and obvious – choice. While she was still scion of House Trevelyan, Elaine had – loudly – argued with her mother. Her mother hadn’t been _pleased,_ but had reluctantly agreed that Elaine wasn’t ready to take on the duties of her House. Inquisitor Elaine Trevelyan it was.

(In private, Venetia had confessed that she was glad Elaine wasn’t taking over quite yet. Until things settled down in Ostwick, best for Elaine to stay out of sight.

Also, there was no way Vivienne was going to be a choice. Leliana hadn’t even presented her as a viable option, and when a prospective and soon-to-be-instated Divine says something – even more so when she’s the leader of a very, _very_ effective spy ring – it was a good thing to not mention her. Cullen had been forgiven.)

Finally… Debate. Heavy, _heavy_ debate had been had at the mention of the elvhen Inquisitor. Adhlea hadn’t even offered him as a choice until it was clear they weren’t going to stop yelling.

Syven Galifalon Lavellan was the mage Inquisitor.

 _“_ But wouldn’t your relationship affect your decisions?” Leliana had wondered.

“No,” Adhlea had refuted. “Because he is not afraid to speak his mind on topics he is for and against. I realize it may seem… _odd,_ but my brother _is_ a mage. He is also someone we can all trust.”

Now that they had… well, a _sort-of_ a system, Adhlea no longer had to go through shitty reports full of requisitions for Threnn, she didn’t have to go out on reports of a rift – after the Breach had opened and closed, they’d all apparently _vanished_ , well – the remaining ones had, anyway. Now, she was basically free from most of the paperwork.

She was _bored,_ now. Sure, she had literal voices in her head at her command and she was learning a _lot,_ but she was _bored._

Learning how to create an Eluvian had been fun… Then she’d done it four more times and each time it was quicker than the last. In the Fade, it was so _exhilarating_ to use magic – an endless supply of mana.

Until she stepped out. Then she’d passed out like a _da’len_ and didn’t wake up for three days.

So… when she did learn from the Well, she asked about _specificities._ Enchantments, weapons… Things she could help create in the physical world.

Harritt, the top smithy, worked here about four days a week. Adhlea didn’t really care for his attitude against her, but she wanted to do _something._ Creating weapons on the days he was off was a good way for her to get tired and help her sleep a _little_ at night.

“I’ve got a weapon schematic that Harritt dismissed. I was wondering if you’d take a look at it? He’s of the opinion it’s too delicate.” Dagna shoved to her a thin blade. It was made on old paper; this was a weapons schematic from the Emerald Graves.

“It’s an enchanted blade,” Dagna explained, sitting in front of Adhlea. “We’d be risking it exploding in our faces.”

Adhlea hummed. “How long will it take?”

“Four days, in various stages.”

Adhlea grinned.

“Let’s get started,” she said, completely forgetting about Harritt.


	2. Chapter 2

Harritt opened the door to the Undercroft as a loud, explosion-like sound appeared.

“Shit, did it work?” Dagna waved away the smoke. “I feel like it didn’t work.”

“Well, it didn’t burst into flames,” the coughing voice of the Inquisitor said, “so it either didn’t work or the last part of making it was _supposed_ to explode.”

Harritt arched a brow, gazing around at the forge. While it wasn’t a _huge_ thing, it _was_ a lot of fire. Even with the open-ness of the Undercroft to the elements – the Undercroft itself being an open-mouthed cave underneath Skyhold – it should be blazing in there.

The High Inquisitor was revealed, soot stains covering her body. Both Inquisitor and Dagna were soaked with sweat, meaning they _had_ worked with the forge.

“Okay, it says wait for a small while until the water cools around the blade. Cooling it with ice magic doesn’t hurt – might actually help it. It _is_ a frost-blade,” the dwarf said, looking at a piece of crisp parchment quickly before sliding it away.

The Inquisitor nodded, then put her hand in the water. Unlike most people, she did not flinch at the heat of the water.

“Are you cooling it?” Dagna asked, looking curious.

“Sort of,” the Inquisitor replied, removing her hand. “I drew out the heat. Let’s bring it out.”

Carefully, the Inquisitor brought the thin blade out, placing it on an empty table.

“Okay, now, let’s see if it’ll do it,” Dagna whispered.

The Inquisitor snapped, a blue barrier lighting over her before she placed a hand on the blade.

The blade gave off icy clouds. Creeping over the table, icicles started to form.

“It _worked!”_ Dagna squealed; Adhlea jerked her hand from the weapon.

There was a small blast, and –

Both Dagna and the Inquisitor looked at the cave wall. A small ice spear was stuck in the wall.

“Shit,” the Inquisitor muttered, walking over to the spike and placing her hands on it. With that simple movement, the ice spike melted until it was level with the cave wall – the Inquisitor removed her hands after that. “We’ll just… leave that there. If that’s a permanent hole, we don’t want to damage the foundation too much.”

“I’ll just get someone to melt it and put in more rock later.” Dagna waved her hand. “Should we get started on the handle?”

“Yeah! Do we have to do the same –“ The Inquisitor stopped, staring at Harritt. “Oh, sorry, Dagna. I just remembered I have a few things to do.” Her tone was suddenly flat.

Dagna looked over and saw him. Harritt noted the look of disappointment.

“An ice blade, huh?” he said, finally stepping down and walking over to the blade. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Three days,” Dagna said, blinking. “We’ve been taking naps in turns to make sure it didn’t overheat or underheat. Inquisitor here is pretty good with the forge.”

“Ah, well. _Dalish,”_ the elvhen woman laughed, looking a bit uncomfortable. “We all have days in… a metaphorical forge, because we don’t actually have buildings for that.”

“Huh.” He inspected the blade. _Good work._ “Not bad. This your first elemental blade?”

“Second,” Dagna said, smiling as the Inquisitor flushed. Harritt was impressed with her acting skills. “First elemental blade was a fire one. Turned out far better.”

“Fire _is_ my element,” the elf muttered, stepping backwards.

“Well, I personally don’t make elemental blades – not that don’t have the empty rune-grips.” Harritt took a considering look at the blade. “I could definitely use some help. Maybe… you come in one day a week when I’m here?” _When you’re not busy,_ was silently there.

Harritt didn’t hate elves. Most elves didn’t give his trade a second glance; he was not under the impression that the Inquisitor wanted this as _her_ trade, but –

She smiled. “Sure, I’d love to.”

A loud knock on the door drew their attention.

“Ah, that’s probably for me,” the Inquisitor said, giving him a fleeting smile before leaving the Undercroft.

“Pretty damn good blade,” Harritt admitted again.


	3. Chapter 3

Adhlea changed quickly; bathing may have helped, but she still needed some perfume to cover any unsavory scent. Josephine spritzed some perfume in front of her face; Adhlea sneezed.

Josephine actually paused. “Was that a _sneeze?”_

“It irritated my nose,” Adhlea said, her brows drawing together in confusion.

“Oh, dear, _that_ was like a mouse squeak.” Adhlea arched a brow. “It was adorable,” Josephine explained, patiently, before spraying more perfume upon her. Adhlea managed to not sneeze.

“Now, I know that it’s going to be weird, but I need you to keep an open mind,” Josephine instructed. “The Empress sent an envoy –“

“Josephine, you’ve been back, what, a few hours? What is so important –“ Adhlea began, only to be interrupted by Josephine scowling uncharacteristically at her and shoving her out, into the hall. Not even an hour ago, there had been nothing in the hall – now, tapestries hung down in the room. Josephine cleared her throat.

“It’s not entirely an _ideal_ situation, Inquisitor, but the four Inquisitors agreed.”

Adhlea noted the fine tapesterial work.

“Now, the Empress sent an envoy not an hour ago,” Josephine continued, “and she sent with that envoy a potential source of knowledge against the Qunari. You know how tense things are with the Qunari and Orlais. The Empress has, since the death of the Emperor, had talks with the Tevinter Imperium. I know that your people have had much differences with them – and your personal experiences are a good reason – but the Imperium and Orlais are coming to you to mediate it.”

“Oh,” Adhlea said, sitting in her chair. “Okay. Dinner?”

Her question was high, but luckily Josephine understood what she meant.

“Orlesian and Tevene cuisine are both in the mess hall, but you’ll be dining on Vivienne’s balcony. Whatever the Orlesian envoy asks for, a servant will retrieve; likewise for the Tevinter envoy.”

“Okay. Got it.” Adhlea massaged her head.

~:~

Dorian blinked at Maevaris.

“You’re…” He poked his friend’s arm. “You’re here.” He glanced at Syven. “You see her, too, right?”

His lover hummed and tilted his head. “I dunno. I see a lovely-looking lady standing in front of you, but I don’t know who she is.”

“I’m Maevaris Tilani, the envoy to the Inquisition.” Maevaris looked around. “Took the Orlesians _ages_ to agree to send us to the Inquisition. It’s neutral ground, and the Inquisitor herself is the deciding factor in this agreement. I realize this must be hard on her, what with her and the whole Par Vollen incident.”

Dorian blinked at her. “What Par Vollen incident?” he wondered, frowning.

Maevaris arched a brow. “You don’t know?”

Before Dorian could say anything else, there was a call for Maevaris. The whole ‘Magister Tilani’ thing knew how to kill a conversation; Maevaris waved.

“I’ve got some news for you later, Dorian, but you’ll want to be drunk,” the woman called to him before vanishing into the Keep.

“Par Vollen?” Syven muttered, looking confused. “I know she was very busy for most of a year, but – do you _really_ think she was in _Par Vollen?”_

“I don’t know,” Dorian muttered, “but I know the one person who might.”

Syven smirked. “And he’s coming back tonight, barring if he loses his other eye.”

“I doubt he’d lose his eye just to _spite_ us,” Dorian said, rather loftily; he couldn’t really say anything else, though. The Iron Bull was really hard to break the shell of – after nearly five years, they still didn’t know a lot about him. Pestering him had never really been in the cards.

“Hmm.” Syven kissed him. “I’ve got some shit to sort out with the younger clan brats. I’ll see you later tonight.” Another kiss and the elf was running off.

Dorian sighed and smiled.

~:~

Minister Rosamunde Sommer stared at the magister across from her.

“My Empress has ordered me to seek out neutral ground to conduct these negotiations,” the minister said. “I on the Council of Lords, though my title is Minister.” She turned to the Masked Inquisitor.

“I am High Inquisitor Lavellan, wife of the late Emperor de Chalons,” she said, her voice flat. “These proceedings shall continue on neutral ground.”

“Thank you,” Rosamunde nodded to her. “Magister Tilani, now that the… _High Inquisitor_ has allowed this to continue, I must speak frankly.” Rosamunde placed her hands on the table. “The Qunari have assassinated the Emperor; with the Ariqun off the table temporarily –“

“No, not any longer.” The magister sighed and tossed back the glass of wine. “The new Ariqun has been selected.”

“So quickly?” muttered the High Inquisitor.

Magister Tilani shrugged. “I do not think the Qun elect anyone to their positions without having a backup. I don’t know much about their positions or shit like that.” Rosamunde wrinkled her nose at the woman’s crassness. “But yeah, Tevinter is actually in a prime position to have an alliance with Orlais, and if possible, a better relationship with the Inquisition.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” the Masked Inquisitor said, removing her hands from the table and placing them on her lap. “If Tevinter is ready to provide proof of their good-will, perhaps ending slavery would be a good start.”

Rosamunde winced at the Masked Inquisitor’s caustic words.

“Unofficially speaking?” Maevaris glanced at the High Inquisitor, who nodded her permission. “You would be right. However, those decisions are for the Archon and Divine to conquer.” Maevaris tilted her head to the High Inquisitor. “That leads to another thing. Officially. The Adaar of the Seheron are willing – and able – to help stop any invading force of Qunari. Tevinter is… more than willing to have an alliance – no matter how temporary – with Orlais.”

“Which leads to the reason we came here, _specifically.”_ Rosamunde clasped her hands upon the table. “We know you are still in mourning.” Rosamunde nodded towards the mourning clothes. The customs of Orlais was to never wear bright colors whilst still in mourning, and this elvhen lady was upholding those customs now; Rosamunde respected that. “However, the Empress has… _suggested_ that, since you hold a prestigious title, you might be amenable for a marriage alliance. To be dissolved _immediately_ after the Qunari threat has been managed,” Rosamunde clarified quickly. “The Black Divine himself has asked this alliance be made by marriage.”

The High Inquisitor stared at Rosamunde like Rosamunde had grown three heads.

“Excuse me,” the High Inquisitor said, standing abruptly before vanishing.


	4. Chapter 4

_I’m going to throw up, I’m going to throw up, I’m going to throw up…_

Adhlea threw up in the nearest basin.

“High Inquisitor?”

Maevaris Tilani’s hesitant voice made her straighten – right before Adhlea gagged once more.

“High Inquisitor… I am sorry,” Maevaris began. “I knew the Divine had something up his sleeve, but – I didn’t think it was _this._ I wasn’t informed of that.”

“I believe you,” Adhlea said, wiping her mouth and grimacing in disgust. “But as you can see, I can’t even _entertain_ the thought without getting sick.”

She kicked the basin under the window. Someone would get rid of it – Adhlea would have preferred not to make them, but – well.

“I may have a solution to that,” the magister said, drawing herself up. “If you would still be amenable to marriage, I know just _who_ to talk to for such a thing. Actually – you might need to talk to his lovers first.”

Adhlea stared at her in open confusion.

~:~

Dorian stared at Maevaris like she’d grown a second head, then looked to Thalia.

“Are you –“ he stopped, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “ _That_ is the requirement to get an alliance?”

“That, and it would get you back home into the Magisterium,” Thalia said, her voice flat. “And you could see your family without being spat on. Well,” she added with a grin, “without being spat on for having male lovers.”

“I am not saying it isn’t an idea,” Dorian admitted grudgingly, “but there is a _reason_ I haven’t married… What was her name…”

“Anais,” Maevaris said with a small smirk, before it faded. “All of us in this room know that the Qunari are gearing up for something. Antiva, Rivain, Ferelden – they’re agreeing to military alliances with everyone, including Tevinter. Marriage alliances, of course – when it all ends, so does the marriages. Orlais is the only holdout.”

“Orlais doesn’t have as much to risk,” Thalia muttered. “I mean, really – Orlais borders an ocean, but it isn’t the land that the Qun will seek.”

“A marriage alliance with the commander of the Chevalier forces of Orlais will be fortuitous,” Maevaris countered. “It shows Orlais is taking this seriously.”

“Is there not any other option?” Syven asked, leaning forward.

“My only other options would be to forsake any idea of a deal, or marry the Black Divine himself.” Thalia’s face showed no emotion.

Syven stiffened.

“Okay, so me or no deal,” Dorian said, taking a breath. “If… If you are comfortable with it…” He inclined his head to Thalia.

“I’d rather not do anything like this. Would it be that I could just kill the Arishok and be done with it,” the elvhen woman said, a sarcastic smile on her face. “Unfortunately, I can’t get away with that. So, discuss it amongst yourselves, I’ll agree to whatever Dorian does, even if that means no deal.”

She removed herself from the room.

Maevaris frowned. “You know, she was a lot more approachable when she was in Tevinter.”

“Well, it has been some years,” the Iron Bull rumbled. “I’ll go talk to her.”

He was out the door before Dorian could say anything.

“So… What has it been? Nearly five years since I last saw you?” Maevaris asked, seeming to want to break the uncomfortable silence.

“We killed Corypheus,” Dorian said. “And have made great headway on –“

He stopped, remembering at the last minute that Maevaris was still living in Tevinter.

“Eh, go ahead and tell her,” Syven said, “she deserves _that_ much.”

Dorian shot Syven a glare.

Syven returned it with a scowl.

“You’re talking about your work on stopping the Veil from falling, right?” Maevaris didn’t sound the least bit surprised.

Both stared at her.

“Yeah, I’ve been made aware of that.” Maevaris leaned back in her seat. “We have a couple spies in the Inquisition.”

“We know. But if they know about _that…”_ Syven actually looked worried.

~:~

The Iron Bull sat next to the High Inquisitor in the Herald’s Rest.

“Didn’t think you’d be here.”

She glanced up at him. “I don’t have much else to do, these days.”

“Except wallow,” the Iron Bull noted. “You barely go outside, and it’s been three years since he left.”

“One, since I saw him,” she said. Bull blinked at her. She glanced up at him. “I don’t – I’m not scared of him. I haven’t heard much from him. It’s more… something else.”

Bull eyed her. “I heard you were seen in Par Vollen,” he said, leaning back. “And that you lost an arm. I guess one or neither are true.”

A wry smile fluttered upon her face. “Both are, actually. I’ve been trying not to think about it, much. Keeping myself busy is hard when I don’t have all that much to do, anymore.” She set her head on her arms. “And now _this._ I was completely blindsided. I can understand the Empress not talking to this about me – she can decide whatever she wants – but as it involves me, she should have _said_ something. What I did in Par Vollen merits _that_ much from her.”

Bull stared at her evenly. “And what did you do in Par Vollen?”

“I killed the Viddasala.” She met his gaze as evenly as he stared at her.

“Shit,” Bull said, eloquently. “Wait a second… The Qun signed the Divine’s writ, didn’t they? The Arishok and Ariqun did, anyway. You killed a –“

“I found a loophole,” the Inquisitor interrupted. “They could not admit they held me there; admitting such a thing would make the rest of the world rally against them. They weren’t prepared for that.” She swirled her tankard. “I think they’re getting ready to be able to take on the rest of the world. I just… I hadn’t heard much of anything from anyone, so I suppose I just thought it was going away. And now _this._ Considering getting _married_ again…” She shuddered.

“Why are you telling _me_ this?” The Iron Bull wondered aloud.

“Because you won’t judge.” Thalia met his eyes. “My brother… He wouldn’t _judge,_ but he wouldn’t _understand._ If you were still in the Qun and were told you had to marry a human because the dwarves were going to murder everyone, what would _you_ do?”

She had a point, but –

“The Qun aren’t going to murder _everyone,”_ he said, smirking even as she gave him a dry glare. “From what I could tell, you’re one of the people they actively want to recruit to the Qun.”

She snorted, choking a little on her ale.

“Pretty sure that was before I murdered their Ariqun,” she said, after coughing violently for a moment.

“Nope. They _really_ want you to join them of your own free will,” he admitted.

She stared at him.

“You’re _joking,”_ she said, her voice high.

“No,” Bull said, serious.

“That’s – oh my _Maker, I killed the –“_ She stopped, looking bewildered and uncomfortable.

“If they can turn you, who _can’t_ they turn to the Qun?” Bull arched a brow.

“That’s both strangely touching and strangely… _strange_ at the same time.” Adhlea grimaced.


	5. Chapter 5

“I leave for three months, and you decide within that time to get married to _Dorian.”_ Minaeve kicked her feet up on Thalia’s desk. “Have you _really_ been that bored?”

The Inquisitor gave her a strange smile.

“ _Yes, I have,”_ she said, oddly.

Minaeve hummed, hearing the door shut. “Still, I –“

_Wait a moment…_

_“You spoke English,”_ she said, narrowing her eyes, her heart suddenly beating faster. Was Adhlea -?

“Oi!” a familiar voice caught Minaeve’s ears; she turned to snap at the guests disturbing them. “Inquisitor, is that _tea?”_

“Not from your world,” Thalia said, cheerfully. “Minaeve, I’m pretty certain I’m not wrong. I believe you know Hinata and Leon?”

Minaeve turned, frowning as she looked at the human-Adaar duo.

“Not – Wait, what are your names?”

“Hinata!” the female, dark-haired human laughed, sounding a bit nervous.

“I used to be called Leon,” the Adaar said, his voice gentle – surprisingly so, for an Adaar. Minaeve frowned.

“I can vaguely remember those names…” Minaeve tilted her head, biting her lip. “Hinata… Hinata…”

“Hinata said that you were with them when you died,” Thalia said, bringing tome up as she gestured to the empty chairs sitting at the table. “Hinata has weird healing powers – certainly advantageous – and Luka – or Leon – is a hidden _saarebas._ Or, _was_ before we were rescued from the Viddasala’s clutches.”

_Hinata, weird healing pow –_

“Wait, your powers _actually_ came _with you?”_

Well, _damn._

“Yeah…” Hinata laughed, nervously as she sat down. “Wish my phone had, too, but no dice.”

“Even if it had, you know. Prime Directive,” Minaeve muttered, smirking as the human shot her a glare.

“Shut _up,_ Minerva. You’re the only one of us four who became an elf, and I am _insanely_ jealous.”

Thalia coughed on her tea.

“You okay, Inquisitor?” Luka looked very concerned.

“Y-yes,” the Inquisitor choked out. “I just –“ she coughed a couple more times, to clear her throat, and then continued. “It’s just, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard a human say they _wanted_ to be an elf.”

“Being human, still, is _boring,”_ Hinata groused, standing up from her seat. “I was human on my world. Didn’t stop racial bias.”

“Yeah, let’s not get into that,” Minaeve said, quickly, with a nervous glance at the Inquisitor.

“She was Asian, he was German, your third friend is Irish, and you were American.” The Inquisitor arched a brow at Minaeve. _Maker,_ it was genuinely _surreal_ to hear those terms spouting from an elf born and raised in Thedas. “They both have rather unique skills, Minaeve. I learned about your world while I was – while I was in Par Vollen with them.”

She returned to her book. Minaeve saw the trembling of her hands.

Hinata leaned up and shoved the book down.

“Oi, oi! Surely you didn’t call us up here just to make us re-meet each other,” Hinata scowled. Minaeve was about to reprimand her when the Inquisitor chuckled, setting the tome aside.

If it had been anyone else – _anyone_ else – Minaeve had the feeling the Inquisitor would have closed off. Instead, because Hinata had zero sense of boundaries. And… And the Inquisitor, Luka, and Hinata shared something Minaeve did not.

“I did not.” The Inquisitor arched a brow. “I’d like you three to come with me to Tevinter.”

Minaeve’s brows shot up.

“Sure!” Hinata beamed. “I’d _love_ to go! I’ve never been to Tevinter. What should I bring?”

“Well…” The Inquisitor started to chat with Hinata. Minaeve smiled.

Later, after Hinata began yawning, Minaeve excused herself, needing time – she needed to get everything together for her trip to Tevinter.

She was also needing to come to terms with the fact that she now knew two of her three best friends were alive.

“Hey, Minaeve! A letter from Helisma.” One of the runners tossed her the letter; thankfully unopened. Minaeve hoped to the Maker that Leliana’s unfortunate habit of reading letters did not remain with the runners.

“Thank you!” she slid the letter in her coat, heading towards her shared quarters with Cullen.

Maker above, she was honestly still reeling over his promotion to Knight-Divine – and his standing orders _from_ the Divine were to keep the High Inquisitor safe. And to do whatever else he wanted (Leliana’s words). Being wedded in an Andrastrian ceremony to a man who _didn’t_ think her utterly insane was… amazing. _Marriage_ was amazing. Minaeve had always scoffed at marriage; a result, she knew, of her father’s philandering lifestyle.

(The man hadn’t even _believed_ she was his. Again, Minaeve wasn’t really surprised.)

“I’m back,” she called to the man, smiling as he looked over at her from whatever he was reading by the candlelight. “The High Inquisitor wanted to talk to me about going to Tevinter for her impending marriage.”

“Yes, I heard.” Cullen nodded. “I’m not joining the expedition; I’m to start overseeing the exercises. Apparently Allana was in charge of them while I was gone; while I have heard nothing but good things about her abilities to keep them fit, I want to see her routine.”

Minaeve nodded. “Tevinter will be fun. It’ll be another wedding for the Inquisitor – can’t be easy for her.”

“No, I don’t think it would be,” agreed Cullen. “Second marriage, to a human no less.”

Minaeve fell facefirst upon her bed. “She’s not upset it’s to Dorian. More like _resigned._ Dorian’s a pretty good friend to her. _I_ like him, but as I’ve met plenty of friendly humans that’s not saying much. Also, it’s got to be a little weird, given that Dorian is her brother’s lover.”

Cullen snorted. “I don’t understand _that_ relationship.”

“They’re weird.” Minaeve lifted her face. “Galifalon’s nice, though. Once you get past the snark.”

Cullen chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to fully clarify: There are three (accounted for) MPIT (modern people in Thedas). Possibly a fourth, I dunno. I was going to add a fourth, buuut I'm still debating on whether or not the fourth one should be dead or not. Comment, please, because I don't know and if there IS, the fourth person WILL be dwarven... So. Yeah. Tell me if you want to see a dwarva modern person in Thedas, kay?
> 
> Also, I'm a bit of a Trekkie, if I'm honest... So I couldn't resist tossing that reference in there. No, it's not an xover with Star Trek or Wars, mostly because while I could MAYBE make it fit... the overall fact is that those don't allow any kind of accounting for the whole magic shtick. One COULD argue Star Wars could, but... I don't think my version of spirits and magic and all the weird shit that happens could conceivably be stated as 'oh hey this world is super high in midifuckingchlorians', not only because I think that's a dumbass explanation for space wizards, but because science CANNOT explain Cole. Or Emmaera. Or, y'know, the GIANT NIGHTMARE SPIDER Emmaera can turn into.
> 
> Sooo... kudos to those who caught that reference!


	6. Chapter 6

Petrus Ignatius arched a brow at Maevaris Tilani. The woman held herself with complete dignity.

“Well, that is quite a relief.” Petrus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for alerting me. Have you made contact with House Pavus?”

“No, but I will go to them now.” She hesitated. “If I might… _obfuscate,_ a little? We need this alliance, and I doubt she’d be willing to marry you if this falls through.”

“A woman of high status is all he needs to know,” Petrus nodded. “Begin preparations for the wedding; have a request sent to whomever could be considered the Inquisitor’s family to negotiate a dowry. No property, of course. Anything that can be given back.”

Maevaris nodded.

“Lastly, as soon as the Inquisitor and her entourage arrive in Minrathous, inform her I want to see her, and don’t intend to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

The sole female magister nodded to him before taking her leave; the woman was _not_ his personal secretary – but she was one of his most trusted allies in the Magisterium.

Petrus watched her leave. In all honesty, he _was_ relieved he wasn’t going to have to marry – even temporarily – the Inquisitor. Knowing that she was still leader of the Inquisition – multiple Inquisitors notwithstanding – was a relief of and in itself.

There were few people in this world he could trust. Despite the lack of faith on her part, he did trust the Inquisitor to an extent; Maevaris he _knew_ he could trust.

_Oh, this world was falling to shit._

~:~

“Well, this place is gorgeous and all, but I think I’m starting to hate it,” Syven admitted to Dorian, spotting all the stares he’d gotten.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian admitted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Most of these people haven’t seen a Dalish elf, nor have they seen a _free_ elf, just wandering around.”

“No. I can’t imagine why.” Syven cast a critical eye around before turning back to his love. “No public displays of affection here, right?”

Dorian shook his head. “Not if we wish to convince the public that the wedding isn’t fake.” He was nervous – actually, that was an _understatement._ He was on the verge of a panic attack, he was so scared that this might all just be a weird dream and he might not actually be marrying an elf just so that Tevinter was allied and so that he could go home.

“ _Boo._ I am officially jealous of my sis.”

“Speaking of… Is your sister the older one?”

Syven blinked. “Yeah, she is. Why?”

Dorian looked amused. “No reason. She just… Bosses you around. Either she’s _quite_ the bossy little sister or she’s older than you.”

“Only by, like, five minutes. ‘Sides.” Dorian’s breath was stolen by his elf’s side smirk. “We don’t spar. Ever. Want to know why?”

Dorian nodded.

“Because it’s a draw. Sis might be stronger, but she pulls her punches with me. I have more stamina than her, and while she has the advantage of being short as _fuck,_ I have the advantage of being a swordsman. More reach.” Syven shrugged. “It’s weird. Like, we’re the weirdest, most complimentary set of twins in the entirety of the Elvhen world.”

Dorian hummed to himself.

“Hey, did Sis give you that amulet she got back for you?”

Dorian stopped. “She said it must have been a coincidence,” he said, glancing down at the amulet he’d sold to get some gold, back when he’d been hiding in Redcliffe. “How the fuck did she track it down?”

“Well, she’s a Grand Duchess. Has a lot of pull,” Syven shrugged. “I mentioned to her that you sold your family artifact and I knew she’d given it to you when I saw it on your chest.”

“Wait… so she didn’t _tell_ you?” Dorian frowned.

Syven frowned and stared at his face. “Oooh… no, she didn’t. _I_ probably shouldn’t have said anything,” he added, regretfully.

Dorian pressed his lips together. “So, she’s marrying me just so I can go home _and_ arranged to give me this bloody thing back. Anything _else_ I should know?”

Syven swallowed. “Nothing I can tell you. She said it’s a wedding gift. You’ll enjoy it.”

Dorian scowled. “I don’t _need_ anything from her. I thought I was helping _her_ out.”

Syven blinked at him.

“Wow,” he muttered, under his breath.

“What?” Dorian questioned, furrowing his brow.

“It’s just… Adhlea _wanted_ you to be able to come home,” he said, freely. “And you know Bull and I wouldn’t trust any woman _other_ than Adhlea to go through with this and respect your boundaries. She doesn’t really want anything in return – just for you to respect _her_ boundaries.”

Dorian rolled his eyes.

Having gotten to know the Inquisitor over the past few years – well, save for the year she’d vanished – Dorian had never _quite_ understood much of what the Inquisitor thought. Sure, as fire mages they had something in common – and she never treated him like he was just another ‘Vint – but that was pretty much where ‘something in common’ ended.

Well, that and her brother, but they just didn’t talk about her brother too much. Not after –

(Dorian shuddered. He was _not_ going to remember the time he was threatened by the Inquisitor and Yenera’s broadsword.)

Not because Syven wasn’t important, but because they were usually attending to important matters.

Or she was just busy elsewhere.

This particular event was making it seem like something bad was brewing on the horizon.

Maker above, Dorian wanted the wedding over with.


	7. Chapter 7

_Dearest Thalia,_

_I have heard of your impending marriage to that Tevinter man. An interesting choice, but I shall not protest!_

_Since you are now the only family I have left, I have managed to secure an invitation – and yes, I do have a dowry for you. Nothing too special, as I am being given it back, but something interesting._

_We both know that Tevinter customs are a bit strange; marrying a magister and being a mage yourself, I presume they have sent you some robes. You’ll wear them to the wedding; and if you have a staff to go with them, wield it._

_I shall see you in Tevinter, my darling!_

_Wishing you well,_

_Nicoline de Ghislain_

Nicoline’s letter brought a little bit of sadness to Adhlea. She had been at Gaspard’s funeral – this time, though, Adhlea had been forced to stand at the front, next to Gaspard’s coffin. Recalling the memory was always painful for Adhlea, not least because she’d been forced to stand at the front with a stone mask.

Nicoline had lost a husband and a son-in-law.

Seeing Nicoline again… Adhlea could say, with certainty, that she’d gotten her own brand of vengeance. Nicoline wasn’t – Adhlea assumed, anyway – aware of the circumstances of Gaspard’s death; Adhlea’s subsequent disappearance probably hadn’t helped.

Still, as Adhlea arrived in Minrathous proper – Dorian a week ahead of her – she did feel a _little_ excited about meeting Nicoline again.

When they stopped, Adhlea expected to see the place they were to sleep and ready themselves for the next day.

Instead, she got the view of the Divine’s manor house.

It was lovely, just – not _quite_ the view she’d hoped. She was tired.

“Lady Inquisitor,” Maevaris Tilani said, giving a small bow. “The Divine wishes to speak with you.”

Adhlea dredged up a smile. “I presume my people will get to the place we are staying.” She did not ask, she simply stated it – they _were_ to get where Adhlea was to stay.

Magister Tilani nodded her head. “Of course, Lady Inquisitor.”

Adhlea nodded to Hinata, stepping out into the waning light of the Tevinter sun. Nobody was around the big manor home; Adhlea wasn’t surprised. The Black Divine had plenty of enemies.

The two women ascended, neither willing to start a conversation. The inside of the Divine of Tevinter’s home was ridiculously opulent – and stringently Tevene. There were zero elvhen artefacts displayed.

“I thought there would be more slaves,” Adhlea said, following Maevaris.

“When the Divine is gone, there are a lot more people,” Maevaris replied, their footsteps loud on the polished floor. “When he is here, he only allows his most trusted in. No slaves. Servants.”

 _And what would that make you?_ A snide male voice muttered in Adhlea’s head.

It was so weird, being comfortable with the Well of Sorrows in her mind. Adhlea had found that if she listened – just _listened_ to them every now and then – it helped them not irritate her. Also, it helped her focus.

Moments like this, though, when a voice just popped up and said something like that, she couldn’t help but react. Her mouth kicked up in a smirk as Maevaris opened the door; Adhlea worked to smother it as she stepped into the Black Divine’s private study.

“Ah. Lady Inquisitor.” He waved his hand in dismissal at Maevaris; Adhlea didn’t look at her as she stalked out. “I appreciate your appearance.”

“Well, clearly it wasn’t optional.” Adhlea arched a brow as she settled herself into the cushy chair. “I did like those robes you sent when I was _already married,_ Divine. So _tasteful.”_

She probably shouldn’t be so mocking towards the Black Divine, but she was annoyed. Annoyed Adhlea equaled mocking Adhlea.

“Nobody knows just who is being married,” the Black Divine said, folding his hands and setting his chin upon them. “Just that the previously exiled scion of House Pavus is marrying a woman with an interesting pedigree; the fact you’re an elf has been kept secret for a reason.”

“I am well aware,” Adhlea responded, keeping her ‘duchess face’ on. “Keeping that a secret was a necessity. I presume you foresaw my disagreement with your original offer; this was why you made Magister Pavus extend this provision.”

The smirk he gave her proved her right.

“You know, before you, Inquisitor, I never knew what Dalish elves were actually capable of.” He stared at her intently. “And then you single-handedly stopped a Tevene magister from destroying the world.”

He moved, fluidly; reaching down into a desk drawer and removing a thick tome.

“This work is the only one of its kind. Sethius Amladaris wrote it before his demise.” His smirk widened as Adhlea stared at the book. “You say that hate powered the ritual to end the world, because he thought of elves as his enemies. I think… _not._ I believe it was something else.”

Adhlea frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I think Corypheus loved an elf,” the Black Divine said, folding his hands over the book. “She died. Violently.”

He moved again, grabbing another book from another part of his office. This one had no elaborate cover.

“This is what I found. His journal. It has book references, sources, private accounts… And this.”

Adhlea stared as he retrieved an ornate-looking key on a string.

“Key to the Minrathous Circle library,” he said. “Nobody will question it.”

His eyes flicked to her ears; Adhlea immediately understood.

“Take these three. I’ll leave you to discuss your findings. Truth is, it is a stain that Tevinter will wish to hide.” His stare was actually unnerving her. “I will say no more. Speaking it will taint your observation. You have three weeks before the wedding.”

Adhlea blinked as he shoved the material to her.

“Why do you give me his things?”

“Because, I’m sure you noticed, a lot of our slaves are gone.” He stood. “Many of them have run. Fled, more accurately; I cannot say I blame them. Even the elf-blooded are treated as lesser beings.”

“That’s why you need the alliance,” Adhlea realized. “Because you’re running out of fucking _cannon fodder.”_

“Oh, get off that high horse of yours,” snapped the Black Divine, turning dark eyes to her. “You’ve been stealing them away in the middle of the night. _Your_ Inquisition mark lays upon the walls.”

Adhlea clenched her jaw.

“I hate what my people suffer here,” she said, standing. “And I thank you for the reading material and the offer of an open Circle.” She gathered the materials, walked to the door and paused. “And while I hate what you’ve done to my people, Divine, your approach has been astronomically better than the approach to your predecessors.” She inclined her head to him. “Despite your abominably turtle pacing, you’re actually _doing_ something. As we do share two things in common, I will say I am… slightly pleased at your aspirations to help our race.”

He blinked at her, his face blank.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he said.

“Please, don’t insult my intelligence,” Adhlea said, coldly. “No Tevinter, no fully _human_ Tevinter, would help the elves.”

With that, she finally left, laden with the books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adhlea does not hate Magister Tilani; she is indifferent to her. Adhlea has no idea of Maevaris' past.
> 
> (and to be honest, I did the barest amount of research to see who would be friendly to Dorian and didn't realize until long after I'd written the Tevinter portion of the previous story that Maevaris is actually a trans woman; I didn't really red her wiki thoroughly enough until long after the fact. Yes, canonically, Maevaris is a trans woman. In Tevinter. Fucking YES.
> 
> Also... I just realized that this KIND of mirrors the previous story - Tevinter was in the first half of the story, this is basically the BEGINNING of the story - but don't worry, we'll be leaving Tevinter soon enough. :D)
> 
> Oh - yeah, if it's not clear (it probably isn't, I don't like spelling things out, apparently...), the Black Divine was the one setting the elves free and putting the Inquisition mark up. Of course, he can't admit it.


	8. Chapter 8

Two days, listening to Hinata chat about wedding things with Dorian’s official wedding designer, and Adhlea was done. Getting up early was easy; she didn’t sleep that much still.

Heading out and into the Minrathous Circle? Nerve wracking, especially as she was very self-conscious with her modesty clothes – typical for a bride-to-be, especially here in Tevinter. Her head was covered, her _vallaslin_ completely hidden – even the markings under her eyes, though they could be suggested as a magical tattoo – and a full-length, shapeless dress.

Of course, she had a magister’s seal – one of the Black Divine’s personal seals – to show the guards at the front she was allowed inside. Eyes stared at her shamelessly as she strode up to the doors and dangled the man’s seal, her other arm holding the books he’d given her.

Quickly, she was allowed inside, their terror visible.

The Minrathous Circle was the first one she visited in her life. However, there were only templar guards at the front; inside, there were people milling about in elaborate gear – people that stopped to stare at her as she stared around her.

A human – of _course_ there were only humans here – approached her.

“Excuse me, madam. Can I help you find something?”

Adhlea licked her lips nervously, then turned up her Orlesian charm.

“The Divine of Tevinter directed me here to research a few things before my upcoming nuptials,” she said, removing the Divine’s seal from her modesty dress pocket. “I must say, this is far lovelier than the library here. Found it gorgeous, too, but he informed me this would suit my work better than the library.”

The mage shoved the seal back at her. “You’re a mage, then?” he inquired.

“Yes,” she said. “Might I be directed to the library here? Or… are the books in random places?”

“Oh… Yes.” He laughed, though it was nervous. “If you’ll follow me, my lady. Might I be so bold as to inquire your name?”

“I shall soon be the wife of Dorian Pavus, good ser.” Her voice automatically cooled. “The Bl – the Divine is on good terms with me.”

“Oh.” A smirk tugged at his face.

“I would warn you not to think anything untoward, ser.” Her voice dropped a few more degrees. “My future husband and I share at least one thing in common; we are both very powerful fire mages. Now, if you would simply _direct_ me to the damn library, I’ll thank you very much.”

He stopped, a glare forming upon his brow as he spat directions out.

Adhlea nodded to him before imperiously stalking away, following his words. She could feel the eyes of the men – there were _very_ few women here – as she moved.

The stranger’s spat words led her wrong; she rapped on a door and it was opened to a large group of men playing…

“Wrong door,” Adhlea said, trying not to laugh at the panicked faces of men at her appearance. “Can someone direct me to the library?”

The young man who answered the door stammered out directions.

“Thank you, good ser.” She cast another glance around the room. “And I will say nothing.”

She gave him a nod before turning back around, heading in the correct direction.

~:~

Markus Calandrius stepped into the library and noticed the woman from before still sitting there. She still had her modesty veil on; lots of beverages scattered around, and lots of parchment paper scattered around her. It looked like she hadn’t left.

No, he realized as he moved throughout the library, she hadn’t.

His friend, Titus Aurelian, eyed her openly as he strode past. She was researching something – something quite vigorously.

“ _She’s_ going to be the Lady of House Pavus?” Titus whispered between the stacks. “I thought she was one of the women around here. Liven things up.”

“I think that bastard Aclassi sent her up there,” Markus replied, his voice hushed. “Come on, we have studies to finish. I actually want to be able to leave.”

“Fantastic. _Herbs and Other Remedies.”_

“It’s not as dry as it first seems,” the muffled voice of the future Lady of House Pavus said from right behind him. “And if I might be so bold – that game of Wicked Grace must have been a close one.”

Both whirled around to see the woman standing behind them, staring up at them with a book in her hands.

“You’ve _read_ the herb book?” Titus gawked.

“I have a lot of time on my hands,” the woman said, sounding amused.

Titus swallowed. Markus… blinked.

“That was a joke,” the woman said. “I don’t _actually_ have a lot of time on my hands. It was practically ordered for me to read it. Never know when you’ll end up fighting hordes of demons on the ground and run out of potions. Or, I don’t know, be infected with some kind of spider poison while in the middle of battle and have to find a remedy in endless desert climate while running from a dragon.”

She moved past them, sliding a book on the shelf.

“You speak from experience?”

“My cousin, actually. Fierce warrior, but quite reckless without her axe.” She moved back. “Chapter six is the one you want to focus on for herbal remedies.”

She nodded at them before vanishing from the stacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew on the Islamic covering for women as a reference for this chapter - I... don't know, I feel like if women were in the Minrathous Circle and going to be married, it'd be both obvious that a) she's a woman, b) she's going to be married. 
> 
> I am not Muslim, but I just feel like it'd be the Imperium's style. Also, there's literally no reference for any kind of before-wedding ritual, and as an American... I have no pre-wedding rituals to think of - the whole 'groom can't see bride before wedding' notwithstanding, because that one is so old and outdated... oh, and the 'something borrowed, something new, something old, and something blue is actually... Yeah, I don't know about that one either.
> 
> Also, if someone actually sees an elf there, sitting in the Minrathous Circle like she belonged there, with the Divine of Tevinter's sigil... Well... The Divine would have a riot and possibly be killed. I kinda like Petrus - kinda an ass, kinda a dick, but just with a smidge of a heart to not be a total dick. So, ergo, modesty clothes.


	9. Chapter 9

Petrus slid into the library at the Circle, eyeing the High Inquisitor.

“Avoiding the wedding plans?”

The woman didn’t jump.

“Oh, Divine. I have a person making all the decisions for me at the house you so _graciously_ provided for me.” She dragged the modesty veil off her face, then yanked the hood down. “I can’t _breathe_ in this thing,” she muttered.

“Believe it or not, it’s to protect you.” Petrus glanced down at the notations. “How long have you been here?”

“Only most of a day. I went to that place for a few hours, but returned here. What do you want?”

Direct. Straight to the point.

“Simply curious as to what you thought of the venue. You brought so few people; are you certain you will be safe from the denizens of people who will attempt to brutally murder you after the wedding?”

He figured being blunt was better.

“I’m a very good mage, Divine. I can keep myself aware of any threats.” She leaned back in her chair, looking every bit the High Inquisitor even in a shitty, uniformly, straight-backed chair in the middle of the Circle library. “Why is all of this odd information inside the Circle, and not the library?”

“Well, if it were in the library, it would be accessible to anyone, and if _anyone_ were to wander in and piece it together…” Petrus arched a brow. “Have you gotten to the sixth book yet?”

“Passed it. None of this is adding up, though. His book makes little sense.” She frowned at the ornate pages.

Petrus sighed. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

She looked up at him. “Why are you so _keen_ for me to discover whatever wretched truth you and the other people of Tevinter are hiding?”

“I am keen to do so because you will not like it. I did not like it, and as you said to me before. You and I are related, if only through my mother’s side.” He glanced down at Corypheus’ book. “That book explains only briefly and only at the end the exact ramifications of his studies; perhaps that is what drove him insane.” He shrugged. “The truth is a hard one to reconcile. And when you find that truth, I know you will go right to your future husband and your brother; I know you will tell them of what you read. They will find it hard to accept. But I know it is in your nature to adapt.” He didn’t know why he said all this; he simply allowed it to flow. “So, please do so. _Adapt.”_

She sighed, but pulled up her hood and modesty veil with a disgruntled expression; that expression faded into neutrality as she picked up a book and started to read.

Petrus took his leave, sliding out before any people could pick up his presence.

~:~

Markus remained behind the bookshelf, petrified beyond reason. He’d fallen asleep, until he’d heard voices in the table area talk; when he’d seen the _Divine_ sitting with a _Dalish elf_ he’d been shocked – and hearing their whispers had only served to both terrify him and pique his curiosity.

He didn’t move for some time – not until the elf woman appeared at the end of the aisle and stared at him.

“…how much did you hear?” she asked, sounding resigned.

“Nothing!” _Oh, Maker, please let her have mercy on me!_

“Come on, you’re coming with me,” the woman sighed, gesturing upwards.

He swallowed and nodded.

She walked away from him, swiping her hand several times and collecting all her materials in a single bundle and picking the rather large stack up; Markus followed her diligently.

Outside the Circle, the templars only gave Markus a cursory glance, bowed their heads to the elf, and opened the carriage door for her. The woman ducked in and jerked her hand for Markus to follow.

It was improper, but he ducked into the carriage.

“Where to, milady?” the servant man called.

“Divine Ignatius’ residence, please.”

“As the lady commands!”

Markus swallowed.

“I’m taking you to the Divine so that _he_ can scold you,” the woman said, after a beat.

“You’re an elf,” Markus said, staring at her avidly.

“I am,” she nodded. “A Dalish elf.”

He swallowed, nervously.

“One might think you actually _enjoy_ my company, dear.” The Divine ignored Markus’ appearance when they stepped into his office, instead staring at the elf.

“Tell it to this magister-in-training, Divine. He heard _everything,”_ she said, annoyed. “You should _check_ next time.”

Petrus smiled at her, then glanced at Markus.

“You’ll be the Inquisitor’s aide in her studies, whatever she needs you’ll deliver.”

“Uh, no he won’t,” the Inquisitor said, scowling – before she sighed, looking down at the desk. “Fine. Whatever. You win this round.”

Markus blinked. The Divine actually looked stunned before a smug smirk appeared on his face.

The Inquisitor then smirked. “You better pay him,” she said, before sweeping out.

Markus swallowed, following her as she turned, arching a brow at him.

“Calandrius,” the Divine said, stopping Markus in his tracks. “Normally, I’d be reaming you a new one. Now, however, I will tell you that should anything happen to the Inquisitor, it _will_ be on your head.”

The Divine flicked his wrist in dismissal.

Markus scampered out.


	10. Chapter 10

“How’s the woman, Calandrius?”

Markus tried not to react.

“What do you want, Aclassi? I have a directive from the Divine,” he said, turning to the man. The elvhen woman at the table glanced over; Markus tried not to telegraph his nervousness as she stood.

“I was wondering how ya found the woman in bed, Calandrius. Heard Southern women are frisky in bed – despite their _manners_ and propriety.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Markus said, looking down at his books. “Look, Aclassi, I’m busy –“

“Aclassi?” Aclassi turned quickly to look at the woman. “You wouldn’t happen to have a sibling?”

 _Oh, shit._ The Aclassi family had been at a low point before their Incident. One could say that Incident was what allowed Aclassi into the Minrathous Circle – it had nothing to do with his ability and more to do with the previous Divine giving accolades to anyone doing, in the-then Divine’s eyes, right by the Imperium.

Despite his swagger, Aclassi was just trying to be a hardass to prove he belonged there. In the right company, Aclassi wasn’t actually a bastard.

His allies were.

Still, even Aclassi got a little touchy when his sister was mentioned.

“I used to,” he said, glaring down at the woman. “What’s it to you?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thought it’d be nice to tell you that Cremisius is doing pretty well down in the South.” The woman giggled a little.

“If she’s still pretending to be a man, I’d rather not hear it,” Aclassi bit out.

“Bit more than that, actually.” The woman’s eyes crinkled. “Krem is the second-in-command to the Bull’s Chargers, an Adaar-led group of mercenaries.”

Aclassi was quite pale.

“Come to the wedding,” the woman said, grabbing Markus’ arm. “If you think I’m lying, come to the wedding and ask the Adaar in charge of the Chargers.”

She yanked Markus out of the area with surprising force.

~:~

Petrus stepped into his office to see a rather harmless intruder – harmless, at least, for the moment.

The Inquisitor raised a glass.

She was very drunk.

“You’re…” she laughed a little. “You’re _scavengers._ You, your shitty Imperium – no wonder he wanted something better.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Petrus asked, slowly removing his coat.

“A lot,” the Inquisitor admitted candidly. “I can’t – can’t feel my tongue.” She smiled. “Am I smiling? I can’t really feel my face.”

There was an odd lilt to her voice. She wasn’t wearing the dress she should be, so the Divine _really_ had to get her out of his office, but he couldn’t just _leave_ her like this.

“I knew I hated you,” she continued, “and why they kept going quiet. They’re suppose – _supposed to_ tell me things, and now they’re just a lot of arseholes. Guesh that’s what I get when I trusht a lot of long dead elves.”

 _Oh, Maker._ She was _slurring_ now.

She tossed back the cup. He had no clue what she was talking about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but that’s neither here nor there. You have to leave.”

She eyed him for a moment.

“Did you really want to sleep with me?” she wondered, grabbing the half-empty bottle of alcohol and pouring the liquid to the top of the glass.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” he asked, resigned.

“Not until you answer _allll_ my questions,” she said with a grin.

He sighed, hanging his jacket on the back of his chair and sitting down in it, grabbing a glass himself.

“I don’t sleep with elves as a personal rule,” he said, pouring himself a glass and tossing it back. “But, yes. You’re attractive and powerful.”

“I don’t sleep with humans as a personal rule,” the elf chirped.

“You _married_ a human,” Petrus reminded her.

“I didn’t _sleep_ with him,” the elf confided, turning grey eyes upon him. They were large. “I don’t like humans. Aes – ass- well, actually, Dorian’s pretty handsome and Marina is _really_ hot, but I don’t like humans sexually. Don’t have… nice time.”

Petrus swallowed his amusement. “So you’re saying they were bad at sex.”

“Well, _I_ didn’t enjoy it,” she said, a frown coming upon her face. “I didn’t have much of a choice in my parti – partipation?” she frowned, then looked at Petrus, who was staring at her with wide eyes. “Izzat how it’s said?”

Petrus cleared his throat. “Yeah… Inquisitor, how did you come into your role?”

He’d always wondered, and – well. Getting an honest answer instead of a roundabout one was going to be a first.

“As Quizzy?” she looked questioningly at him. He nodded. “Well…” she giggled a little. “It’s ‘cause I was there when the Divine died. The Conclave _esploded.”_

He didn’t comment on her wrong pronunciation.

“Then, then – then I got an ancient elf’s magic mark.” She giggled, a little inappropriately. “And then I fell in _love_ with the ancient elf, who’s now trying to destroy the _world.”_ She looked up at him. “Have _you_ ever done that?”

“Can’t say I have,” he admitted, pouring himself some more.

“He was _nice,”_ she lamented. “He was attractive, and he –“

“Inquisitor,” Petrus muttered, “I was asking you how you got the role of Inquisitor.”

She stopped, looked considering.

“I dunno,” she said, after a long moment. “It was prolly ‘cause I was the so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’, which was a hoot then ‘cause I wasn’t Andrastrian. Still not,” she added, waving the hand with the drink in it. “I wasn’t really _qualified_ to be Quisitor. And even then I’m a Dalish elf. Which makes everything fucked up ‘cause I dunno what I’m going to do now.”

“Well, you and your kin are revivalists, right?” Petrus thought about what his mother had said.

“Not my clan,” the Inquisitor said, “an’ I’m pretty sure after the events of – of what happened to kill Cory-piss, not many clans _like_ the elf gods. They all suck, ‘cept for Fen’Harel.”

Petrus frowned. “He’s the guy that created the Veil, right?”

“Mm,” the Inquisitor agreed. “He’s also an excellent man in bed.” She wiggled her brows. “Didya know that stories of his sexual prowess is like a well-known illicit secret between the teen elves?”

Petrus’ face heated up.

“No, I didn’t.” _Maker above._ Petrus kept his eyes firmly on women.

“It is. ‘T’s like, Fen’Harel is like _sex incarnate,_ according to the tales. I mean, they’re not _entirely_ wrong, but most of the stories paint him as this sex god,” she said, sitting up from her slouch.

Petrus needed to get drunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I've only been seriously drunk once, sooo... Yeah. This was both for humor purposes and half because I'm not entirely sure what a drunk person would sound like. Hope you enjoy!


	11. Chapter 11

The Black Divine stepped into the room. Dorian straightened. Syven moved an appropriate distance away; Thalia turned in her magister robes, inspecting them and making sure that they didn’t look too tacky over the ends of the bridal dress.

“Tasteful,” the Black Divine said, flicking his gaze to the woman before sitting down in the lounge seat. “What about the dress?”

“I was planning on stripping and dancing naked,” the Inquisitor said, her voice flat. “That’s what we Dalish do, isn’t it?”

Dorian frowned at her tone. The Black Divine rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat when he caught Dorian’s eyes. “Have you told them?”

“Told them what?” Thalia asked, removing the magister’s robe and revealing the beautiful gold dress underneath. Dorian had to admit she looked beautiful. The Black Divine arched a brow as he glanced over her body.

“Told them about the thing I sent you to research.” The Black Divine looked at her as she froze.

“No. It would distract everyone,” she said, swallowing and looking away from the Black Divine.

“Oh my fucking _Maker!”_ Syven was instantly in front of his sister. “Did you two have sex with each other?”

He gestured loosely at the Black Divine.

“No,” the Black Divine said, bluntly. “I prefer my bed partners sober, thank you.”

Thalia scowled at her brother. “If I had _sex_ with the Divine, I wouldn’t be in _Tevinter_ , let alone be able to look you in the eye, Syven. I was just drunk as hell last night.”

“We both were,” the Black Divine said, “but the Inquisitor’s honor remains untarnished. Speaking of the wedding –“ Dorian snorted at the lack of subtlety “-you shouldn’t wear the robes until after the ceremony. You’re not Tevene, so it will be weird as fuck.”

She scowled at him. “Whatever.”

The Black Divine rolled his eyes again.

“Maybe you _should_ have gotten laid,” he said, glaring at her. “You’d have less of a stick up your ass. Though,” he added, a dark, devious light coming into his eyes, “I shouldn’t be surprised, given that your ‘sex god’ is trying to end the world.”

Adhlea went an alarming, unflattering shade of red as the Divine made his exit.

“I,” she said, through gritted teeth, “will fucking _murder_ him after the ceremony.”

“Did you call _Solas_ a… _sex god?”_ Dorian asked, amused despite himself.

“I… _I don’t remember!”_ She looked upset. “I… I suppose I did.” She buried her head in her hands. “Gods, I fucked up last night.”

“Maybe not too bad,” Dorian said, rubbing his chin. “He might think he said something to you. I’m willing to bet that you might know something he doesn’t want you to.”

The Inquisitor smiled limply.

~:~

Nicoline de Ghislain entered the house set for the redheaded elf to get ready in, bustling in and kissing the elf’s cheeks before opening the closet.

“Well, now – what a gorgeous dress. Well, shall we get to what is expected of you during the ceremony?” She arched a brow at the redheaded elf, who nodded.

“Dorian has told me the vows are purely for aesthetic purposes, and since it’s Tevinter I shouldn’t expect to be poisoned during it.”

Nicoline smiled a little.

“No, it isn’t Orlais, that is for certain. I am very disapproving of the way the Empress has handled this.” Nicoline scowled. “Not only does she force you to marry a Tevene, she only does so for the purpose of using Tevinter.” She glanced in the mirror, seeing the mage’s face pale abruptly. “Tevinter will be made a major target; it has always been outspoken against the Qun. Orlais has no intention of sticking to the bargain.”

“This is all just a farce?” The mage’s face turned stony. “So… for the past month, I’ve been reading up on Tevinter politics simply for the fuck of it all?”

Nicoline shrugged. “I tend to stay out of the Empress’ affairs; I have no need for them, now.”

Her daughter, her husband, and her son-in-law were all gone. Her new daughter-in-law was the head of a very powerful organization – one that even now held a sizeable chunk of power.

“Mother,” her daughter-in-law said, sounding bone-weary. “If Orlais does not keep its word, then I promise you this – and the Empress, should you gain an audience with her - they will be no better than Tevinter. Even Nevarra and Ferelden would honor a marriage alliance. I will not be responsible for the actions of Orlais.”

Nicoline nodded to her.

“I will inform the Empress when I next see her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a source for the dress - unfortunately - and I'll try to draw one and post it on my blog, but don't hold out for anything good. (Can't draw well.) I personally imagine it as a gold quarter-sleeve dress with embroidered flowers on it, the main color of the dress gold at the top fading into white. The flowers are still gold and embroidered on it.
> 
> I realize with all the techniques of the past there's like barely any way that's possible, but I like pretty things.


	12. Chapter 12

Markus Calandrius and his invite was a boon to his family; immediately, their family’s status rose.

Aclassi had garnered an invitation, too – Markus neared him and the Adaar who was vaguely threatening-looking, what with his single eye and all.

“Ah, Krem – my second in command,” the giant Adaar said with a scary grin. “Bestest man I’ve ever had under my command.”

A redheaded elf next to him sniggered. “Ah, Krem de la Crème… I see the family resemblance.”

Aclassi stiffened.

“Anyway. We should get started.” The elvhen man straightened. It was then Markus saw what he was wearing – his eyes widened at the Lower Enchanter robes that he wore. While they were the lowest of the Enchanter’s ranks, the fact an elf was wearing them meant he was someone important.

The doors opened, letting in two more people – an elf who wore Healer’s robes and a human in similar robes. They immediately made a beeline for the Adaar, whom Aclassi was edging away from.

History was being made here; Markus realized that the robes had to have been given by the Divine himself, given that he presided over the Healers of the Minrathous Circle.

A clear line was being drawn.

Markus was beckoned by his parents, who sat near the Pavus seats; all but one was empty, a sign of the House of Pavus’ disgrace. According to Mother, Dorian entering a marriage alliance with a woman was a sign that something very bad was going on within the Pavus household.

(After all, it was not long ago – a mere few years previous – that Dorian Pavus had been publicly disowned and had promptly vanished, with the people of Tevinter knowing his secret inclinations. Markus himself had done the polite thing and smeared Dorian Pavus’ name.)

Now, though, he sat down as all but the Inquisition members did as the Divine strode in. His dark skin was dusted with gold flakes; Markus had to admit he pulled off the color quite well. It didn’t clash with his golden robes (much).

Silence descended upon the families of Magisters as the Divine held up a hand before waving it.

The guards opened the doors, allowing in Dorian and his new bride. The Magister Pavus did not show his surprise at her appearance.

Resplendent in gold, the Inquisitor Lavellan looked… soft. Her hair was braided to the side with flowers tucked into them, her ears in full, pointed display. The braid of thin gold in her hair was just barely noticeable. Her eyes were lowered, demure –

Markus was frozen in his seat as they passed. The ‘soft smile’ belied innocence, but the mere presence of both fire mages made Markus feel as though Tevinter were in the dead of summer, at its hottest. Looking around, he knew he was not the only ones who felt so – the sweltering heat that they gave off was enough to make anyone sweat.

Markus realized, after a long moment, that the Inquisitor and Dorian were followed by a hulking Adaar. He carried no weapons.

“A marriage between Orlais and Tevinter is at hand,” the Divine said, straightforwardly. “Do you so swear that you will honor the bargain struck?”

“Orlais is willing to honor the bargain struck,” the Inquisitor said, her voice strong. “As am I.”

The Divine stared at her strangely for a moment before turning to Dorian.

“Tevinter is willing to honor the bargain struck,” Pavus said, his voice steady.

“Then I announce you wed,” the Divine said. “You may kiss the bride.”

It was quick; Markus was at the viewpoint where he could see neither had kissed the other full on the mouth, but neither had fully avoided it. A kiss between close friends, not people in love.

They remained close for a few seconds before removing themselves.

“A toast, to the Lady Thalia Pavus.” The Divine raised his glass.

Markus and the others obliged; Dorian and Thalia went to the gilded chairs – Dorian stopped her before removing a coat from the back of one of the chairs.

A Master Enchanter’s robe, covered from top to bottom – from hem to neck, from shoulder to sleeve-tips – in wards and runes and almost every magic imaginable, was offered to the small elvhen woman.

She slid a hand in each sleeve, staring at Dorian with a smile on her face.

“Mother, what’s going on?” He wasn’t the only one to ask this.

His father was bloodless; as Markus asked this, his father got up and stalked out. He was not alone.

His mother went from silent and stone-faced to smirking.

“I believe, my son… Tevinter has made its first female Master Enchanter, even if it is only in dress and temporary.”

Markus did not understand.

“Look around you, son.” Markus did. “Count the women, and count the men that have left them to themselves.”

Markus’ eyes widened.

“This Divine has put a bigger price on his own head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grins* I did not give her the Master Enchanter title to make her a Mary-Sue, beloved by all. I did this for a VERY specific reason, and since I'm not in the market for giving away spoilers...
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter with badass fire mages!


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as they were in their bedroom – after the shock-and-awe factor of Dorian putting her magister’s robes on over her dress wore off and they were _finally_ able to leave the damn area – Adhlea shucked off the robes and grabbed her normal clothes from Luka, thanking the Fade there was a separation screen in there. She changed quickly. They weren’t allowed to have any visitors after the door closed, but Adhlea had ensured Luka would be there to give her far more comfortable clothes to spend the night in.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” Dorian announced.

“No, I want to,” Adhlea said, stopping him. “I have some things to finish up, anyway. The bed has no table next to it.”

Adhlea didn’t, but she might as well write a letter or two.

“If you –“ Dorian was suddenly unconscious, sleep powder dusting around him.

A blonde elf shimmered into view. Adhlea thought he looked vaguely familiar.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, mildly.

“I thought it best,” the man said. “Zevran Aranai, former Antivan Crow at your service.”

“Mm. Why are you here?” she questioned, seriously.

The blonde elf shrugged.

“Bit more entertaining,” he said, not exactly lying; Adhlea had a feeling he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. “But to be honest, I like this world and your former lover wants it to burn, so there’s that.” Aranai shrugged. “My fellow elvhen Crows were either crippled masterfully or just escaped with our lives.”

“Sol – _Fen’Harel_ isn’t the type of person to torture or maim anyone to join his cause. To join it would be to think it just.”

Aranai laughed. “You’re right. I actually abandoned the cause because _I don’t think_ Fen’Harel really has his heart set on it.”

Adhlea felt her heart skip a beat.

“Also, my fellow ex-Crows and I? We were caught by Qunari. They _really like_ their torture,” he said, as though he commented upon the weather.

“Don’t I know it,” Adhlea muttered.

“Oh, and Fen’Harel sent me with this.”

He handed over a box, tied tightly with leather cord. Adhlea was amused for a moment; it was hilarious to think of Aranai walking around with this casually tied around his waist.

“He said it’s a wedding gift.”

 _Of course he knew,_ she thought, biting her lip as she unraveled the packaging.

A pair of glittering ironbark knives, complete with sheathes, were settled in there. Along with a note.

_Inquisitor,_

_Congratulations are in order for your wedding. I hope these find you well._

_I do realize you’re not a fan of close combat fighting, but I thought of you when I found these. I hope your blades find their marks._

There was no signature, but it was _undoubtedly_ his elegant scrawl that danced upon the page.

She smiled, unable to help it.

The peace of the moment was shattered by Luka running into the room, Hinata and Minaeve shouting something in unison.

Something broke the window.

A flash of familiar light exploded around them.

~:~

Adhlea stared around her, eyes wide.

“Why the _fuck_ am I in the _Hissing Wastes?!”_

Her shout echoed back at her.

She balled up her fists, kicking sand.

It flew up into her eyes and mouth. She coughed.

“I’m going to die out here,” she predicted.

She sighed and started out. She was lucky that, in the Hissing Wastes, daylight was three hours, the peak hour in the middle. Adhlea had never paid much attention to _this_ area in particular.

Still, being here… She hesitated to call it ‘present day’. Last time something like this had happened, she’d traveled a year in the future.

And yes. She had recalled the light. Someone in Tevinter was fucking with time magicks again.

Adhlea spotted a fire. Recalling that the Hissing Wastes were home to dwarven Paragon statues, Adhlea had to be very careful about how she handled shit.

But mostly… She just wanted water.

Adhlea crept closer to the camp, stopping and creeping towards the ruined Paragon statue as she spotted the hulking Qunari marching around the tents.

She hid behind a dune, spotting a bunch of elves. If she could see them, they could see her – after all, they had the same reflective ability.

She sighed.

 _Great, now I have to figure a way around them… Ugh. I really hope there’s an Inquisition camp around here._ She looked around, groaning a little when she realized the sun was coming out.


	14. Chapter 14

“Okay, there _has_ to be a better way to get through here,” she rasped two days later. “I’d take the _other_ weird, screwed-up future over this one.”

She stumbled to the shade of the upright Paragon statue, taking out one of her ironbark knives in front of her as she warily entered the area; she felt a slight shock as her eyes adjusted to seeing the Black Divine and –

“I must be in the Void,” she said, aloud, shock making her filter nonexistent. “I must’ve died of dehydration, or some shit.”

Solas stared at her with wide eyes; even the Black Divine stared at her with shock.

She sat down, hard, hysterical giggles leaving her throat as she placed her hands behind her neck, trying to keep herself together even though every part of her was crashing here – here, now, in front of the Black Divine and Solas.

 _Fen’Harel,_ she had to remember. _He is Fen’Harel._

“You’re alive,” Solas whispered, his face still in a frozen shocked look; Adhlea took one look at his face and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her.

“I’m alive!” she said, a bright smile on her face. “I’m alive, all right! I’m alive and I have _no idea_ where my companions are, I’m alive and I have _no idea_ what the fuck is going on – just that the Qunari have set up camp in the Hissing Wastes, I woke up in the _fucking Hissing Wastes,_ and not _three_ days ago I was in Tevinter, having a _lovely_ time with Dorian and that weird Crow that delivered _your fucking wedding present –_ you could say I’m alive.” Alive and _furious._ “So, before I decide that I’m really _over_ seeing the two of you, uniting together in some weird alliance and decide to murder you both, I would _start talking.”_

She was not joking, though if she were honest, she was too tired to attempt to murder them.

~:~

Dorian coughed out smoke. “Darling, I don’t think this is healthy,” he rasped to the human and Adaar.

“It isn’t,” Luka agreed, “but you’re the most experienced mage. Can’t you magic a way out of this?”

“Magic doesn’t work like that,” Dorian grumbled. “If only mages with experience moving air were still around.”

“Wait, so lightning, fire, and ice aren’t the only, um, specializations?” They continued through the smoke-filled, ruined Exalted Plains. “I thought –“

“The Circles forbade knowledge of using any but those three. They planned on banning fire before the Kirkwall Circle exploded,” Dorian explained, grimacing and plugging his nose as they stepped near a bunch of smoldering bodies. “Maker above, where _are_ we?”

“You’re in the Exalted Plains, morons!”

Hinata was shoved protectively in Luka’s arms as a semi-familiar face appeared before them. Semi-familiar, because the teen boy in front of them… was only familiar in the aspect he looked like someone Dorian knew but probably hadn’t seen in a while. He was about thirteen years old.

“Andraste’s fucking tits,” the kid said, looking stunned. “I thought you three were losers, but I didn’t – _Mama!”_

Another familiar face appeared, older and lean and wary.

Dorian’s brows rose in disbelief as the woman’s name came to him.

“Miss Calia,” he said, offering the wide-eyed woman a charming smile. “Let it be known I fucking _hate_ time travel.”

~:~

Marina gave Minaeve a strained smile. “We’re screwed,” she announced. “I mean, we’re in Dalish territory, and there’s only one person who might be able to get us out of this.” She glanced at Doshiel, who glared up at her with a scowl as she held a cloth to her head. “And with all due respect, you’re the only non-mage in the group.”

“Actually, I’m not a mage, either.” Zevran Aranai smiled down at Marina. “And honestly, _you’re_ the one who’s the most conspicuous. Human.”

Marina scowled.

“You know… I’d be able to help better if we hadn’t traveled in time,” Doshiel grumbled.

Marina blinked at her.

“…How do you know this?”

“The High Inquisitor told me about her experience. Amulet, bright light. My guess is some shit with Alexius got into someone’s hands. Problem is, we’re so fucking far from where we were it’s not even funny,” Doshiel said, smirking a little as she stood. “We should go. There’s bound to be more trouble than a little accidental cutting of some friend’s face.”

“I said I was sorry,” Marina muttered, flushing. “I’m a mage, not a –“

“Right now, we’re _all_ non-mages,” Minaeve replied, sharply. “So let’s all shut up and figure a way out of this mess. We’ve got to find an Inquisition camp, and we’ve got to find it fast.”

“If there’s an Inquisition,” Marina reminded Minaeve quietly.

“Hey, ‘Rina.” Doshiel was marking something in a tree. “Come send some power through this summoning.”

Marina glared at the Hero. “Never call me _Rina_ again,” she said, before slapping power through the summoning. “What are we summoning?” She realized she probably should have asked _before_ mindlessly slapping her hand upon something, but nobody ever called her ‘extremely smart’.

(Except for Fenris, when he called her _genius._ )

“Elves,” Doshiel said. “I’m summoning the Wolf Pack.”

Marina, Minaeve, and Aranai all stared at her.

Doshiel rolled her eyes.

“A summoning spell directed towards their _very_ specific markings would make it fucking obvious where we are. Any members of the Pack still alive will know it’s a Dalish elf calling for help.”

“And if that particular ability draws… _unsavory_ elements, as well?” Marina asked, an edge to her voice. “Like, maybe, I don’t know… _a pack of wolves?”_

“It won’t. I’ve used it before. Summons the whole Wolf Pack. It’s like an unbearable itch that only grows worse with time.”


	15. The Mother

Adhlea felt really awkward, sitting near the war table with people staring at her as they moved through the room. Mirae, one of Fen’Harel’s followers, was glaring at her. Mirae had introduced herself with a glare that made Adhlea _very_ uncomfortable.

“So, when is –“

“ _Sis?”_

Adhlea blinked at hearing her brother’s voice. She stood, turned and gaped, probably very unattractively. “S-syven? Why are you here?”

“Should I not be?” Syven laughed, abandoning whomever he was helping forward and drawing Adhlea into a hug. “Oh, Adhlea – I have missed you so damn much! These past five years have been _hell.”_

Adhlea laughed a little, but it was shaky. Learning that the amulet was operative and had thrown them forward in time had been weird enough; seeing her brother five years older than just a few days ago? Fuckin’ _weird._

“Okay, so, there’s something you should know that Fen’Harel probably didn’t tell you,” her brother said, pulling back from her. “The Veil fell, and… Well, it kind of released some… er, _entities._ One of them being, well…”

He moved back, helping that person out.

Adhlea felt her whole body freeze as she stared at the blind woman.

She was rather beautiful – far more so in person than in her depictions. Halla horns extended from her head, her green hair flowing around. Green skin from her hairline faded into beautiful porcelain.

Ghilan’nain, Mother of the Halla and ancient, deified elf from the time of Arlathan moved with her brother, leaning on him for stability.

Adhlea’s heart was in her throat.

“I think I need to sit down,” she said, weakly. She sat back down in her chair.

“Okay,” the Black Divine – _Petrus,_ Adhlea had to remember, because he certainly was a far cry from the Black Divine – said, clapping his hands together as he breezed in. “Let’s fill the High Inquisitor in.”

Syven gently settled Ghilan’nain down in a chair. Ghilan’nain pressed a hand to her forehead. Adhlea tore her avid stare away from her, turning her attention to Petrus.

“Let’s see, five years ago, she vanished,” Syven said, glancing at her. “And appeared here.”

He tapped the place that was marked; Adhlea had hazarded a guess, with all the paragon statues marked.

“Anything important other than mine and Dorian’s disappearance happen?” she asked, casting a glance at Ghilan’nain nervously.

“Well, we think – by other scattered reports – that Hawke and Doshiel vanished then, too. All of you were suspected to be dead,” Petrus admitted candidly. “And we found Fen’Harel gathering up the scattered denizens – human and elvhen alike. The dwarva, _all_ of the dwarva, kinda fled underground and sealed their entrances. Or they were killed,” he summarized. “The Adaar in the Seheron were slaughtered in a swath; the Iron Bull was killed there.”

Adhlea saw her brother flinch.

“It was actually the Qun,” Syven announced. “The Qun attacked every location with a significant hero – something to change history. If we can get you back –“

“I get to do the same damn thing I did last time, except less with the murderous, thousand-years-old Tevinter and more with an entire way of life,” Adhlea summed up, her voice dry; Syven snorted at the statement, but nodded at her.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Lovely.” Adhlea pinched her nose.

 _Can I speak to her? I wanted to say… No, never mind._ Ladara sounded sad, muted.

From what Adhlea gathered of Ladara, Mythal had chosen her from Ghilan’nain’s followers, supposedly to free her – and free her Mythal had. From _life._ Ladara had been used as a sacrifice.

“Might I speak with you in private?” Ghilan’nain said, looking in Adhlea’s general direction.

All voices went quiet in the room.

“Uh… sure,” Adhlea said, standing and feeling suddenly nervous and sick to her stomach. Ghilan’nain stood and grasped her arm – Adhlea jolted, her eyes widening in shock.

Adhlea had really no fully-formed opinion about this particular member of the Evanuris. Ladara was one of the few in the Well that had been hand-picked and murdered; but touching this woman –

Having Ghilan’nain merely _touch_ Adhlea was like feeling warmth. There was… life, in this woman; but what struck Adhlea was how _empty_ she felt.

It made very little sense, she knew, but really… it was like this woman was really powerful, but the core of her being was no longer with her. Adhlea followed where the woman dictated – into a room overflowing with plants.

“I was trapped here,” Ghilan’nain said, her voice melodious as she withdrew her arm from Adhlea’s. “Trapped here for eons, inside the Fade.” She strode to the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Adhlea whispered, unable to think of something else to say.

“Oh, don’t be.” Ghilan’nain shook her head. “I was alone, yes; but this… This was a prison Fen’Harel built, specifically for me. Do you know why?”

Adhlea shook her head; Ghilan’nain didn’t see it, but continued anyway.

“Because I asked him to.” She leaned forward, rubbing a leaf between her fingers. “I asked him to make my prison however he saw fit. I knew that the others had grown unstable; among them Falon’Din, who sought to make his reign through blood. Fen’Harel would let the Fade decide their torment, though he made measures to keep them in eternal pain. He wanted them _all, US_ all to suffer – in a way, we were responsible for Mythal’s death.”

Adhlea couldn’t respond.

“Then I find myself in a world I knew nothing of when Fen’Harel ripped the Veil away. A young elvhen man who distinguished himself only as ‘a friend to everyone’.” Ghilan’nain smiled. “I gave him my orb, you know.”

Adhlea stared at her.

“You have some of Mythal in you,” Ghilan’nain said, before her voice hardened. “But if you play with Fen’Harel’s heart again, little elf, I’ll make you end up just _like_ her.”

“ _I_ didn’t do the _playing,”_ Adhlea snapped.

“No?” Ghilan’nain turned and walked up to her. Adhlea wanted to leave – even _tried._ She looked down and swallowed, fear pulsating through her. Roots had climbed over her boots. Ghilan’nain’s expression was fierce as she hit Adhlea.

Adhlea fell. Roots began wrapping around her.

Ladara shoved through.


	16. Chapter 16

_“Mamae, no!”_ Ladara didn’t want her Mamae to murder Adhlea in cold blood. Ghilan’nain paused, her white eyes widening as Ladara took over. “Mamae, please don’t kill us,” she begged. “He hurt her. He slept with her and hurt her, Mamae, _please.”_

Ghilan’nain reached down. “I can feel you, ever so distant… Where are you, Ladara?”

“I am one with the Vir’Abelasan,” Ladara murmured. “We are the collective will of… Of Fen’Harel, now,” she said, knowing Adhlea would not remember this. They could not tell her. “We died in Mythal’s service, and in that service we were forced to recite our pledges to Mythal, to serve her even in death. Thousands have been added to this collection over the years, because Mythal was not dead. She was weakened; through clever wording and magic, she has added thousands of elves to this Well. While as one we are more powerful than others, Adhlea has managed to sift through the detritus and find us.” Ladara closed Adhlea’s eyes. “Mamae, she loves Fen’Harel. She feels betrayed by his actions, but has made no move to stop him from his work in trying to tear down the Veil… Even though she wants to.”

Ladara felt the roots loosening.

“My lady that we all serve is kind and caring,” Ladara went on. “She learns every day; she forges, she makes every stride to better herself.”

Maybe mentioning Imshael would upset Ghilan’nain. Adhlea learning more blood magic wasn’t even a good thing for Ladara to think about, but Ladara wasn’t Adhlea and therefore didn’t know what she needed. Isera seemed to agree with Adhlea at the whole ‘bettering yourself in every way’. Ladara just didn’t understand why Isera was getting so… _modern,_ cheering on Adhlea when she was thinking murderous thoughts.

“My successor said much the same,” Ghilan’nain admitted quietly. “Perhaps I did not want to admit it to myself quite yet.”

Ladara was let loose; she moved her host’s body with some difficulty, not used to her long-limbed-ness.

“How long can you stay in control?” Ghilan’nain asked, touching her face.

“Not long,” Ladara lied. “Mamae, please just treat her okay.”

“I will,” Ghilan’nain promised, leaning down and touching her daughter’s face. Ladara leaned in.

Ghilan’nain usually protected her own children by making them serve her in one capacity or another. Rarely did one want to upset the Mother of Halla. Contrary to her name and ordinarily gentle nature, once pissed off, Ghilan’nain could wreak far more havoc than Mythal, using her calling – nature itself.

The power given to Syven would enhance his connection with the earth.

Ghilan’nain had told Ladara once. _The center of our power is our orbs,_ she had said. _It is not all we are, but when the orbs are destroyed, a large part of us is destroyed alongside it._

Her mother had given hers away. Ladara let herself fade away back into Adhlea’s mind, exhausted but happy she got to speak to her mother.

~:~

Adhlea blinked awake in the garden, her head in Ghilan’nain’s lap. The woman was humming, carding her fingers through her hair.

“I am sorry, _da’len._ I had no intent to cause you harm.” Ghilan’nain’s hands did not stop. “I feel protective over my younger brother.”

Adhlea moved, shifting from the Mother of Halla’s grasp.

“And I feel the same as you would about my own brother,” Adhlea said, staring at Ghilan’nain. “I do love Solas, I truly do. But, as much as I wish it… He has chosen his path, and that path is far from me.”

“You’ve given up on him, then?” Ghilan’nain asked, quietly.

Adhlea closed her eyes.

“I haven’t. I simply need to be stronger, so that when I see him – _my_ Fen’Harel – I can…” Adhlea trailed off. Saying it aloud… Well, saying it aloud, she didn’t _know_ what she wanted to do when she saw her So –

When she saw _Fen’Harel_ again.

She didn’t know how to face him – facing him earlier, before she’d had sleep, had been able to be done because she was delirious. Now, though – she hadn’t felt his presence at all since she’d been awake.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She exhaled. “But I cannot think on it now. What I must do is return to my time.”

Ghilan’nain nodded. “You must indeed. But first, you must reunite with your allies – which I will help you do.”

Adhlea frowned at her, opening her mouth for a moment before closing it.

“I am connected deeply to this world. I am called the Mother of Halla because of what Andruil transformed me into; but that was never truly my power.” Ghilan’nain gestured around her. “My power has always been connected to the world of Thedas. I know your brother will use my power well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I maybe took some liberties with the Well. Not all of them will appear - actually, only a specific few, so please don't worry about that.
> 
> Ladara was young when she died. Several members of the Well are.


	17. Chapter 17

The heat of the beating sun burned Adhlea as she walked. She didn’t struggle too much to keep up with them, as her brother’s ice abilities – while still rather… bad, as apparently he hadn’t seriously trained them until two years previous to now – helped them keep hydrated.

Adhlea was well-aware of the gossip that murmured through the ranks of the people she traveled with. Mirae just glared at her nastily.

Fen’Harel didn’t even look at her. Instead, he kept a fair distance between them.

Adhlea accepted that distance.

Ghilan’nain didn’t seem too bothered by the heat, either. Adhlea was still struck whenever she saw the lauded deity standing _next_ to her – Ghilan’nain was really, _really_ gorgeous in direct sunlight. Adhlea found herself casting the other woman looks many times on her journey.

Adhlea kept her own company, lost as she was within this time. The dark looks of anger upon their faces made her a little annoyed, yes – but not near enough angry to start blasting fireballs.

Most of that changed, though, when she felt something burning into her legs as she ate by herself. Seeing as the markings of the Wolf Pack had only been a little completed, there were still the remnants of the markings that were to be placed upon her. The _vallaslin_ of Fen’Harel decorated the _entire_ body of the bearer, if they were to be hailed as devout. Adhlea had let her own trauma overcome her common sense.

Still, when she felt the burning, she absently scratched it.

Nothing.

Frowning, she lifted her leggings just enough to eye her leg.

Her eyes widened as she saw the lines glowing.

She poked one of the lines. An image flashed into her mind.

 _Doshiel…_ Doshiel was here, in a wooded area.

Adhlea frowned, staring at her legs uncertainly before standing up.

Eyes shot to her, but she ignored them. She left the camp’s inner circle and walked up to him. Fen’Harel glanced at her before returning to his blade-sharpening.

“It’s kind of funny,” she said, after a long moment, “I see you and my brain just goes… Weird,” she admitted. “I’m not going to tell you what I’m going to tell your past self, but I wanted you to know that I’m grateful for what you did.”

He stilled, still not looking at her.

“So… Thank you.” She paused, wringing her hands. “Thank you for giving me my arm back, and thank you for rescuing me.”

He finally looked at her. “I think you should tell my past self that.”

Adhlea grimaced. “Yeah, I guess I screwed up and told you half of what I wanted to tell you.” She shrugged. “Also, I suppose since I told you _that,_ I can tell you that I did _not_ appreciate you entering my home and hovering over my sleeping body while you gave said arm back.”

 _He_ grimaced that time. “I admit, it was an erroneous decision. I… did not know how you’d react if I simply approached your door.”

Adhlea nodded her head in understanding. “Yes, it is true – I most likely would have reacted worse. That may be… But still. Creepy.”

He gave her a wan smile. She shifted.

“So, um.” She clenched her left hand. “What happened with the Veil?”

He moved over on the log, setting down the knife as he began speaking with a pat on the log.

“It came down when I made it, and it destroyed much of the world,” he said, his voice low. “Skyhold was only safe by the wards holding it. Surprisingly, Kirkwall remained mostly unaffected; presumably, the rather large mass of templars succeeded in finding a way to keep the city unharmed. I have not been to see it.”

He fell silent, then. Adhlea tilted her head at him. This close, she could see his eyes were guarded; as he looked at her, though, for a split second, she thought she could see the one thing she knew made him a better person.

 _Shame._ He was ashamed of his actions.

Then it was gone; Adhlea said nothing to his eyes, instead looking away.

“Solas,” she said, instead, “can I ask you –“

She stopped, then. She didn’t want to know the answer to her question – whatever it may have been; she honestly hadn’t been thinking when she opened her mouth.

He blinked at her, looking taken aback.

She shook her head, looking down – before her legs twitched, violently. Searing pain spiked up her body –

“I’m going to fucking _kill_ her,” Adhlea hissed out after a moment, holding her head.

“Who?” Solas sounded quite puzzled.

“Doshiel,” Adhlea snapped back. “I don’t know when, but someday I will _murder her.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...The Wolf Pack: A pack of elves that have Fen'Harel's - or a version of what they THINK it looks like - vallaslin on their entire bodies. Since they alone have the mark, they added a tiny bit of tracking magic.
> 
> Adhlea's full history with the Wolf Pack WILL be explained. I PROMISE. :D
> 
> Anyway, I live for comments! Flames will be ignored/used for firepower *wink*
> 
> (no idea why i added that 'wink' thing, like seriously... hahaha, I need SLEEP. Been up since 3:30/4ish in the fcking morning and didn't get to sleep til round 11 haha)


	18. Chapter 18

Doshiel knew she was dreaming. Doshiel was quite a lucid dreamer – especially considering she’d had nightmares upon nightmares after she’d killed that damn archdemon – so she knew she was dreaming.

Only, when everything turned weird and misty, she knew that she was in another’s dream.

“ _What_ are you _doing?”_ Thalia looked pissed off. “You keep sending these shooting pains up my legs, and when you appear in my vision it’s like you’re trying to tell me something but you just give me a bloody smirk – _why are you smirking?”_

Doshiel wasn’t meaning to, but –

“You’re part of the Wolf Pack, aren’t you?”

Thalia paled drastically.

“Oh, don’t –“ Doshiel shook her head. “Don’t,” she said to the younger woman, who looked suddenly small. “Don’t be ashamed, _lethallan._ Many joined the Wolf Pack when they had nowhere to go.” Doshiel sighed. “I was summoning the Pack, if they still existed.”

Thalia nodded. “They did, until Fen’Harel kinda tore the Veil down. He said it wiped out most of the world – save for Skyhold and Kirkwall.”

“Makes sense,” Doshiel nodded. “Wait – where _are_ you?”

“Hissing Wastes,” the woman admitted. “Hold on – I’m pulling Dorian into this dream.”

Doshiel arched a brow as she reached, _physically –_ Dorian appeared as she dropped her arms, looking wary and ready to fight.

“Thank the bloody Maker!” Dorian said, looking absolutely relieved for some reason. “Wait, you’re here, too?” he stared at Doshiel, looking a bit annoyed.

“Yep,” Doshiel replied, simply. “Despite me wanting to be elsewhere.”

He winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean –“

“It’s fine,” Doshiel interrupted, not really caring for his apology. “I’ve got Zevran and Minaeve with me, along with Hawke. You?”

“Hinata and Luka,” Dorian replied, tossing a look at the Inquisitor. “Luka’s not been well-received – they thought he was Qun.”

“Eh, they’re not _entirely_ wrong,” the Inquistor muttered with a frown. “How come you all got companions, and I’m all alone with Fen’Harel?” A secretive flash came from her mind; Doshiel tilted her head at the woman. Dorian arched his brow at her.

“Spill,” she ordered.

The Inquisitor shook her head, a smile literally brightening the area they were in.

“I shouldn’t,” she said. Then she giggled. “Oh, Doshiel – I can’t keep it a secret! I’m traveling with _Ghilan’nain!”_

Doshiel’s brain stopped working for a moment.

“…what?” she croaked.

“Yeah,” the Inquisitor beamed. “It’s amazing! She’s _so_ beautiful, Doshiel… But… her power center is gone. It was given to Syven. _She_ gave it to him.”

Doshiel was _so damn jealous._

“So, you’re in the Hissing Wastes with Fen’Harel and Ghilan’nain. Lovely. Thank you for making me stupidly jealous of you,” she said, perfectly serious, to the woman.

Thalia rolled her eyes, but smirked a little before getting serious.

“You’re in the Hissing Wastes? I think I’m in the Freeman Dales,” Dorian said, frowning. “Where are you?” he asked of Doshiel.

“No idea. I’m just trying to summon the Wolf Pack by carving their sigil on bark and focusing my intent on dragging them to me,” Doshiel admitted. “It’s less frustrating if I do it that way.”

The two other mages nodded.

“I’m wondering how we got separated,” Dorian piped up. “We’ve been here for three weeks.”

Doshiel’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been here for like six days,” she said, frowning. “Marina’s been here for ten, Minaeve and Zevran nine.”

Thalia cleared her throat, lifting her chin. “I may have been here for four days,” she admitted. “And this has already given me so much whiplash, it’s ridiculous. Apparently with us three – we were targeted _specifically.”_

Doshiel nodded. “Get Marina in here. She deserves to hear what’s going on.”

Thalia rolled her eyes but nodded.

~:~

Marina Hawke had had better days. Such as, _any day_ that did not involve time travel.

Or shit that also included dreamers, because _those_ people were _weird._

Speaking of _those_ people…

“Inquisitor,” she said, smiling at her soon-to-be sister-in-law. Adhlea nodded at her before closing her eyes, the dreaming world around them dark.

“I’m really not used to dragging more than one person into my dreams,” she said, sitting down, “so I think you’ll all just have to chat without me.”

“What is this about?” Marina frowned.

“We were targeted,” Dorian said with a frown. “Specifically, you three.”

Marina blinked. “Huh,” she said, accepting that the Inquisitor and Dorian were from their time. “Makes sense.”

Adhlea tilted her head, frowning even as she kept her eyes closed.

Doshiel and Dorian just blinked stupidly at her.

“You,” Marina explained, jabbing a finger out at Doshiel. “The Warden. Me.” She poked herself in the chest. “The Champion. Her.” She finally pointed at Adhlea. “The Herald.” She let her hand drop. “The three top bitches in the world in our time, and we’re all sent into the future.”

“But how did they know where we were?” Doshiel countered, her eyes narrowing.

“Not hard to guess I’d be in Kirkwall,” Marina admitted. “Or that you would be in that new stronghold of the Wardens. Also, despite it being a closed secret, the upper echelon – like Prince Sebastian – knew of the Inquisitor’s marriage to Dorian.”

“But for a courtship, it was very sudden. The wedding wasn’t even planned by us –“ Dorian’s face went cold.

“It wasn’t the Black Divine,” the Inquisitor said, not moving. “He travels with us now.”

“Great, so now an unknowable threat is in front of us,” Doshiel grumbled. “I hate life.”

“I hate time travel,” Dorian agreed. “I should go – I think I’m waking up.”

He vanished. The three world-savers looked at each other.

“Doshiel, when did you become a mage?” Marina wondered, idly, glancing to the elvhen hero.

Doshiel glanced at her, looking confused. “I’m not one,” she said.

Marina glanced at Adhlea, who was also frowning at Doshiel.

“Doshiel,” Adhlea said, “you know you can trust Marina.”

Doshiel scowled at her. “You only trust her because she’s marrying your brother, _and_ is hot,” she informed the other mage icily.

Marina blinked.

Adhlea looked unphased. “No, I trust her because she is trustworthy. Look, we’ve all seen pretty similar things – which is weird, to be honest – and have somehow managed to scrape by with just _barely_ not dying. This is why I trust you. And you’re doing _what_ with my brother?”

She turned to scowl at Marina.

Marina laughed, uneasily. “His idea to have a small Andrastrian wedding?” she admitted, weakly. They didn’t want it to be a spectacle – with Adhlea arriving, it was bound to be. Besides, _Varaina_ was already there and Fenris had taken to lurking in the shadows around her.

“I may not know him well, but he’s blood-kin,” Adhlea murmured, looking far away for a long moment. “Anyway,” she said, recovering, “we have to meet up. Doshiel… Marina… can you –“

The three were jerked into another’s dream. Adhlea fizzled out of nothingness as her dream was torn away from her. Marina and Doshiel both materialized the weapons of their choice – Marina, a pike with a wickedly sharp blade, Doshiel a sword.

Adhlea did not rematerialize.

“Apologies,” a familiar voice murmured to them. The mists of the Fade dramatically parted; Marina tensed when Fen’Harel revealed himself.


	19. Chapter 19

Adhlea had zero experience with what he had done – she jerked up in bed, her head pounding and her bedroll on fire.

Syven jerked up from his spot near her, dousing the fire with a blast of ice. He looked over to her, then his eyes widened.

“Your nose is bleeding.”

Adhlea wiped her nose.

It was.

She didn’t know he could even _do_ that, rip dreams from beneath her – she’d been _warded_ –

She shrugged out of her blankets, leaving the tent and quietly grabbing her weapons before slipping out of the camp.

She didn’t look back, she just kept walking while keeping an eye on her nose. It was one thing to marvel at his appearance, one thing to say she forgave him for what he did to her, but quite _another_ for him to think he should have the _audacity_ to rip her _fucking dreams_ out from her. There was a kind of _etiquette_ between dreamers, this was something he should have _known._ Imshael had told her of the unspoken etiquette of dreamers – only the most _arrogant would_ rip another’s dream. That would be if they were stronger than the other.

Still. It was actually a polite thing to _warn_ another dreamer, more powerful or not.

She could see Doshiel walking now; she knew she was headed in the right direction.

A branch cracked near Adhlea. She had an arrow nocked, a blind halla in her sights –

She relaxed as the halla transformed into Ghilan’nain, resplendent in her normal wear. The world seemed to part before the ancient elf.

“I felt you leave,” Ghilan’nain mused. “I did not come after you until he was ready to; you are not yet ready to face him quite yet, am I right?”

Adhlea locked her jaw, then spoke.

“…I’ve had control over my magic ripped away from me before.” She could recall that moment, when she had become aware of no magic. “He had _no_ right to do that to me.”

Ghilan’nain hummed.

“No, he did not,” she admitted, her blind eyes at half mast. “He is now truly guilty of what he was accused of, you know. He did it so you would never feel her words again; he did not know that the power would transfer over.”

Adhlea opened her mouth, ready to speak – then understanding slammed into her.

And fury, wild fury rose up inside her – fury that died immediately.

For all that she thought that of him like that, she could only realize there were two reasons that she could think of that he wouldn’t tell her.

One, he thought he wouldn’t have to control her, ever; thus, not telling her about it rationalized his own decision – or two, he thought she’d go all fiery and roast his ass on a pike.

While both options were stupid (although she had to admit she wasn’t all too sure on what she wanted to do yet, and killing him via fire _was_ one of the myriad ways she got overdramatic vengeance on him for breaking her heart and lying to her in her… admittedly wildest, most rage-filled fantasies), both options were plausible.

“He still shouldn’t have ripped my dreams away,” she said, after a moment.

“I know,” Ghilan’nain acknowledged. “Which is the only reason I’m not trying to convince you to go back to him. Let us be off, Adhlea Thalia Lavellan.”

Adhlea proffered her arm. Ghilan’nain slid her arm through it.

~:~

When Luka managed to break free of the melee they’d found themselves in, he realized that they were all looking at him weirdly. He was holding Hinata like she was a sack of potatoes _and_ fighting, keeping the bastard Qun off of Hinata – right then, Hinata’s safety was his priority.

His tamassren had decided that Luka fell under the Arishok’s rule – like his ability to protect was in his very nature. Luka had always found that to be true, if only because finding Hinata in a field when he was seven and having to protect her from the cruel Adaar Qun in his clutch (a term Luka and Hinata had ascribed to them, due to Hinata remarking upon how they were kind of similar to dragons – being raised in a whole bunch. Given that Luka really didn’t like the others raised with him, he agreed with ‘clutch’.) meant that he’d protect other people.

As if. Hinata – and now Minaeve, and maybe the Inquisitor – were his priorities. He found that being a Qun made his instincts sharper; he was also glad he wasn’t a ‘pure’ Qun – he was taunted when he was younger because he looked much like the female Adaar. He liked having hair.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, letting his dazed friend down on the ground. Hinata shuddered, looking a bit queasy. Luka frowned down at her, before turning to Calia and her son.

“Well, you defended us,” Calia said, narrowing her eyes. “Tevinter.”

“Yes, Miss Calia?” Dorian perked up from his log.

“Where _did_ you pick up these two?”

Luka was shocked it took her so long to ask.

“Oh, they’re not my strays,” Dorian responded with a smile. “They’re the Inquisitor’s. She’s currently coming to us – I had a dream that she was, last night.”

Calia arched a brow. “Well, why didn’t you just _tell_ me these two were the Inquisitor’s strays?”

“First of all, Miss Calia, if they’re with _me,_ it should be fucking _obvious_ that they’re not on the side of the Qun,” Dorian said, and _wow,_ Luka had never heard the fire mage’s voice so cold. “And secondly, until about two moments ago, I could hardly know if I could trust _you.”_

Luka cleared his throat.

“We cannot fight with each other,” he said, making everyone look at him. “Hinata, are you –“

“I’m fine, just a little rattled.” Hinata gestured away. “We should keep going, right?”


	20. The Huntress

Doshiel stumbled into a clearing, splattered with blood and disgusting entrails and everything else, and stopped.

She just… _stopped._

This clearing was clearly untouched by the war-ravaged place out there. A simple little cottage sat in the middle of it – and around that cottage were thousands of wisps.

And Doshiel _did_ mean _thousands._

They twinkled, dancing lazily around the clearing as they did so; Doshiel, mesmerized, stepped forward.

The wisps darted towards them, their golden light turning red as they were weaponized by an unseen force – a force that turned them back to gold after Doshiel’s cheek was brushed.

“What the fuck?” Marina asked, huddling in the middle of the three elves.

“I don’t know,” Doshiel admitted, warily. After Fen’Harel had ransacked their dream, he’d told them to head towards Skyhold. There they were, heading towards Skyhold.

The door to the cottage opened. An elf came out of it, her lone arm around a basket. Her expression was that of a woman doing an unpleasant task; given that the woman’s clothes were in it, Doshiel presumed the woman rarely did laundry.

The woman stopped. Doshiel felt a frission of fear sliding up her spine as the ash-blonde woman stared at them.

“Well, come on in,” the woman snapped, dropping her laundry and letting it fall on the ground carelessly. “Fucking _shem.”_

She stalked back into the cottage. Doshiel tilted her head, but followed her in.

The cottage was extremely spacious; an older-looking man with his nose in a book sat upon one of the beds. His face was quite solemn. Doshiel shivered as he looked up, his eyes filled with – well, Doshiel could not read this one. The only one she could read was the scowling, one-armed woman who stomped back into the room.

“What do you four want?” the woman asked, glaring at them.

“To rest?” Marina suggested aloud. The elf’s lip curled in clear disgust as she stared at Marina.

Doshiel looked around the cabin again. There was an odd amount of –

A fine tremor slithered down Doshiel’s back. Fear settled deep into her bones. A fear Doshiel knew was not fully from meeting them - the fear in her was more of... of _disc_ \- 

_(No, no - it's not real. She doesn't know that I'm insane - I **must** be.)_

Doshiel cleared her throat.

“Greetings, Old Ones,” she said, inclining her head at the duo in the cottage. “I am honored to be in your presences.”

“Cut the shite, dear.” Dirthamen closed his book. “We no longer have our power centers. We cannot help, as our imprisonment in the Fade took a larger toll on us than expected.”

Doshiel frowned. “Were you _expecting_ us?”

“Unfortunately,” Andruil replied, a sneer flitting across her face. “Fuck Fen’Harel. I always knew he was a bad idea for her to make, but she _had_ to make him –“

Dirthamen shot her a glare. Doshiel blinked as Andruil went silent.

“I’m drunk,” Andruil informed them, after an awkward pause. “Do you lot want a drink?”

“No,” everyone agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andruil and Dirthamen, people! 
> 
> ....both of whose Fade punishments will be released, later on. I did NOT do a POV for the whole time travel section on purpose - not because it is also mimicking the previous story, but because of this: The future changes when Adhlea&co go back to the present - this part WILL be referenced, so it's important, people!
> 
> -hope you're enjoying Ghilan'nain - I actually thought of her as the mother of life in this story, as in maybe the Elvhen equivalent to Gaia, except... more like a secret badass who liked her lil' bro Fen'Harel.
> 
> I dunno, in this story I get a Ghilan'nain and Fen'Harel brother-sister vibe similar to Adhlea and Syven, only Fen'Harel's the exasperated little sibling who would still do anything for his big sis.
> 
> ...Sylaise, June, Mythal, and Elgar'nan have nothing to do with this future 'verse. A) I COMPLETELY forgot about June and Sylaise, B) Elgar'nan has his own arc, and C) Mythal is DEAD.
> 
> So. *rubs hands together* ENJOY. And review. PLEASE REVIEW.


	21. Chapter 21

Skyhold was empty. Empty, dreary, and desolate.

Adhlea watched Ghilan’nain feel the air.

“I have only ever been to Skyhold twice,” Ghilan’nain said, turning her sightless eyes to Adhlea. “This was Fen’Harel’s home; he did not let anyone who wasn’t _his_ people in. Other than one time, where we were all here. You could say it was a celebration of sorts; I did not know of Falon’Din’s murder of Mythal yet.” She shook her head. “He was throwing us all a celebration and we all drank… _something._ I know not of what it was – it tied us together, bound us to the Fade. He made a speech about making us all stronger… And then we were gone, in the Fade, when we awoke. All of us, separated for good reason; separated from that which made us stronger.”

Ghilan’nain turned away.

“I tended to my plants, I tried to create companions… I failed, of course. Creating companions to give me something to do was not good. Perhaps the best time of my imprisonment was when I met the dreamers that happened upon my prison on accident. Or Fen’Harel – he visited me on very rare occasions. I liked those occasions.”

“Did he take away all their power centers but yours?” Adhlea wondered, then froze, unsure if she should ask.

“I think so,” Ghilan’nain frowned. “The prison was not really meant for me; but it was still a punishment. I could not leave my corner of the Fade, and I did not try.”

Adhlea couldn’t imagine it – being trapped for so long, without the world around them reacting.

“But if you can create anything in the Fade…” Adhlea trailed off.

“Well, we may have made Eluvians, but we had help with those. Creating Eluvians is no small feat of magic; tying it and anchoring it… No, even if we had made one, our prisons were, presumably, ever-shifting in location. The exact location where I came into this world? I believe it was because Fen’Harel tied me to that location when he brought the Veil down – he used my power center, my orb, in conjunction with his.” Ghilan’nain shook her head. “The only worrying possibility out of all of us would be Falon’Din. He got his power from the dead, much as I do from the living world, Elgar’nan the sun… etcetera. Even without his power center, with his orb floating in the wind – because I don’t have any idea where it might be – Falon’Din is powerful. _Extremely_ powerful. You’ll have to find it, of course, when you go back to your time.”

“ _I_ have to?” Adhlea frowned.

“Yes.” Ghilan’nain sounded so self-assured about that. “We don’t know where Falon’Din is, exactly. We think he might be responsible for the world state now – you see, this empty world did not happen until _after_ Fen’Harel unleashed us upon the world again.”

Adhlea swallowed. In her head, a certain soul paid attention.

Brasirotha, personal assassin of Falon’Din’s. Cast aside because she suffered an injury, sold to Mythal for a thousand gold pieces. Brasirotha had _enjoyed_ her sport of murder and violence – her only issue with Falon’Din was how easily he had cast her away.

“His dream was rivers of blood and heads on pikes,” Adhlea said, aloud; Brasirotha’s whispers dancing in her mind. “He wanted them all at his feet; he wanted to rule the world, but he wanted to see Mythal’s head on a pike.”

“You are remarkably well-informed,” Ghilan’nain murmured, “but I suppose that could be attributed to one of Mythal’s power centers within you.”

Adhlea frowned as she tossed her bow at the ruined throne’s foothold, sitting down on the steps. Ghilan’nain’s hands moved within the air; Adhlea watched her move silently.

A smile appeared on Ghilan’nain’s face. “You should call out to Skyhold. Can you feel the wards?”

Adhlea concentrated, feeling for Skyhold’s natural wards.

They were weak, but there – the reason she hadn’t felt them welcome her was because they were so fragile for an unknown reason. They perked up when she felt them; a feeling of warmth filled her body.

“When you go back, you should strengthen the wardstones,” Ghilan’nain advised. “I’m going to find a room.”

Adhlea did not ask _how._ Ghilan’nain had lived a long life being blind, it probably wasn’t hard to find a bed.

Adhlea found one of Josie’s writing utensils in her long-abandoned study; since it looked like Josie hadn’t been here in years, Adhlea figured stealing some parchment wouldn’t be amiss.

After writing down a couple things she needed to do when she got back (the wardstone thing being a top priority), she moved to the library. Abandoned, like the rest of the hold.

This abandonment worried Adhlea. Why? Skyhold’s wards, weak as they may have been, should have held up – should have held up, even when the Veil fell. Adhlea migrated towards where Alexius’ research had been; she stopped when it became clear it had been taken.

“Fuck,” she said, making a face. She spotted a lone book, discarded on the shelf. Hoping privately _some_ of his research was there, Adhlea opened it – and nearly slammed it shut. The most boring book in existence stared up at her; Adhlea flipped the cover page, then grimaced and flipped a few other pages.

She stared at it for a few seconds longer.

“Well, shit.”


	22. Chapter 22

She closed her eyes, sitting all alone in that empty hall. She wanted to know what had happened here – what had happened to her home. (And if that meant _not_ looking through boring books like _that_ one…)

Wind moaned through Skyhold. She took a deep breath before sliding into the Fade. Despite him being a spirit – or perhaps _because_ of it – Imshael was an amazing teacher when it came to learning about dream-walking – and that she didn’t _typically_ need to be sleeping deep. Like Solas.

_“We must evacuate!” She dashed up the walkway, the briefest reflection in the glass showing Josephine’s panicked face; Syven dashed alongside her._

_“We do,” Syven panted, “but what of my sister? She might appear –“_

_“With all due respect, we don’t know if she was transported or not, Inquisitor. We can only hope if she was that she’ll figure a way back.”_

_Syven’s face dropped._

**_It’s been a year,_ ** _Josephine thought, loudly as she tripped and caught by a pillar. **If they haven’t appeared now, I do not think they ever will return.**_

_She darted away from Syven’s help, dashing into her hall and grabbing papers and a trunk and throwing items in there._

_A few spies rushed in, saw her packing, and rushed out again; Josephine didn’t have time to worry about them. She turned, opened her mouth –_

Everything shifted. A door opened, Josephine collapsing on the ground in front of a Qun warrior.

 _“Lady Mon – **Lady Montilyet**! The Qun have breached_!”

The person who screamed that was immediately killed.

Everything shifted once more.

_Josephine’s slack body was lifted out of the room, five other bodies being shown with the Qun hallway out the hall._

_“We have to leave. Seal the Eluvian,” Syven ordered, a scowl forming upon his face as he was viewed leaning down to – to do **something** with the Qun._

She didn’t see, as the image vanished.

She opened her eyes, hurt roiling inside her.

 _Josie’s dead,_ she thought, hollowly, forcing her body to move to where Josie had lain.

She stared at the spot where she could imagine her blood to have been.

_Would it be different if I had been there?_

She moved away from the spot, glancing out a shattered window and seeing Ghilan’nain pulling up flowers, coaxing them from these grounds.

She moved past that, and paused when she got to the main hall, glancing at a door.

_Am I selfish to want to go there when I know he isn’t around?_

It would depend on if anything he’d _done_ in there had made a lasting impression to Skyhold; Josie’s death had made _quite_ an impression.

 _Is it wrong for me to want to feel something… else? I am scared to know who else died here… At least_ here _…_

She passed through the Rotunda, barely acknowledging the sheet still held magically against the wall, pushing open the room she wanted.

She had honestly _thought_ of doing this in her time. But she’d always been scared to – to think that it had not been _real._ That, and after Par Vollen, she just –

She _couldn’t._

She set herself upon the floor, against the dusty bed. She closed her eyes once more…

_He left his room, seeing her sitting in the Rotunda lounge chair. It was one of the days where she had nothing official planned, instead letting herself dress in a tunic and leggings._

_“Hello, Solas,” she grinned up at him, her_ vallaslin _catching his attention for the briefest moment. “Remember that spirit mentioned in Hallesta’s journal – Lath?”_

_“I do,” he replied, inwardly sighing. **Lath was not the most… bearable of spirits.** “Lath is Love,” he explained. “The full emotion of Love. There are others, but Lath encompassed all forms of it – in fact, one could say Lath is the… mother or father of love, depending on how they appear to you.”_

_“Wait, so most spirits – they can change form?” She frowned._

_“Surely in the ancient Dalish tales…?” **Surely the Dalish knew that I was -?**_

_“Well, yes,” past-Adhlea frowned, “but the spirits we see that are scattered in Thedas, they don’t typically change.”_

**_Oh. I see._ ** _“Cole is an example,” Solas began. “He chose the form of a mage boy trapped and dying in the White Spire. He chose to be what the boy needed – he became a non-mage.”_

_Past-Adhlea froze, and her eyes narrowed in fury._

**_Is she angry because Cole took the form of a boy, or -?_ **

_“I hate those fucking Circles,” she snapped, her red eyes flashing. “A fucking **child.** How could they do that?”_

_“Well, rest assured they certainly can’t do that now,” Solas pointed out, relief flooding him. “Not when all eyes are upon them like they are now.” He moved to his seat._

_“True…” Past-Adhlea frowned before her eyes lit up. “Wait, so if Lath is completely love, can Lath be corrupted?”_

_Solas paused._

_“I… I do not know,” he confessed._

The memory faded. Adhlea frowned, not having felt much besides… Well, she couldn’t decipher his feelings that much. She let her eyes flutter shut and found herself in Solas’ footsteps once more – one where Vivienne had accosted him, but she’d not known the true argument they had had, only having been alerted at the tail end, templars having their weapons pointed at Solas while he had remained frozen.

_Solas left his room, heading to his armchair when he spotted Vivienne in his seat, having arranged herself elegantly in **his** seat; a flash of intense dislike flashed through him as he cleared his throat._

_The Madame de Fer lifted her eyes._

_“You have never been in a Circle, have you?” She gestured at the piles of manuscripts. “I find it obvious. No Circle mage would even **think** of studying such things.” She was most likely thinking of his way of measuring the Veil, of weakening it. She could not read Elvhen, so she didn’t know **exactly** what he was doing. “More to the point, I would have had you **removed** from the Inquisition. Your presence does nothing but distracts the Inquisitor from her work.”_

_“The Inquisitor and I are none of your business, Madame.” Even as he spoke those words, he admitted to himself that Vivienne was correct. **I have no right to do this.** “And what I study has nothing to do with your Circles; I suggest you leave me to those studies and do whatever it is that **you** are here for.”_

_Vivienne stood, her eyes flashing. “Do not speak to me in such a way,” she ordered. “Tell me… What exactly did you know of the Breach?”_

_“I had only guesses,” Solas replied, evenly. His ears picked up footsteps above, running down and out. **Don’t be running to her. I can handle this.** “I shared with the Inquisition what I knew.”_

_“Hmph,” Vivienne scoffed. “Do not tell me that you do not enjoy it. I have heard you speak of your dream-walking; how do we truly know if you are a spirit or an elf?”_

_“You have my word, and the fact I bleed red blood,” Solas said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Lady Vivienne, I **do** have work to do.” _

_“And I have a duty to ensure you are truly no threat,” Vivienne insisted, clapping her hands._

_Templars entered, armor clanking._

**_I do not want their lives on my hands,_ ** _he thought, knowing Corypheus would have his own soldiers; everyone had to be at their best, and it would not be good if he had to kill seven templars –_

_“Seven templars is a bit of overkill, is it not?” Solas enquired, tilting his head. “As I’ve stated, I have as much power as a hedge mage –“_

_“Do not pretend to be lesser than you are,” Vivienne sneered. “The Inquisitor may be blind to the danger you may represent –“_

_The door slammed open. The Inquisitor, wearing no shoes and her night-clothes, hair wild, stormed in._

_“Well, now,” Adhlea said, her voice clearly angry as she saw the templars – most of which stared at her – and Vivienne, who looked frozen. “Vivienne, let me be clearer than a fucking crystal. I trust Solas. You don’t have to, but I make my own decisions, and if my decisions aren’t good enough for you –“_

_“I just want to know if he’s a threat, Inquisitor,” Vivienne said, her tone soothing. “Let me do what I must –“_

_“Oh… is that all?” The Inquisitor smiled, coldly as she sidled up to Vivienne. “Vivienne, **darling.** I out-rank you. Listen to these words: You seek to imprison or harm Solas and I will throw your ass out of **my** organization. Don’t like how I run things? Tell your precious Empress. Get the **fuck out** of his rotunda, and if I see you in here again without Solas’ express permission, I’ll have the servants think up a suitable punishment. Do you understand me?”_

_Solas felt… awed._

_“He is studying things that should not be studied,” Vivienne protested._

_Solas pressed his lips together. Many had thought his studies were unnatural, even back in Arlathan._

_“Yes, and a giant, undead, Tevene magister has ripped open the sky and we’re all facing our rather imminent demise if we **don’t** work together and do the dangerous heathen nonsense, Vivienne. We will push the boundaries of the Chantry and we will **do whatever it fucking takes** to stop the world from ending. That includes heretical studies, or whatever the **fuck** you call them. **Get out of Solas’ rotunda.”**_

_She flicked her hand; the templars saluted her as they left. Vivienne drew herself up and left, her face a frozen mask._

_The Inquisitor turned to Solas, her expression warm, and slightly hesitant. “I know you can handle yourself, but Vivienne really doesn’t – well… She doesn’t like many people.”_

_“I am aware,” he replied with a slight smile. “I thank you for your defense, Inquisitor. I… have not had that before.”_

_She cocked an eyebrow. “I told you I would’ve stopped them from killing you before,” she said, lifting her chin before snorting and looking away._

_“Um, my lady?” The scout cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would put on some clothes?”_

_Past-Adhlea flushed to the tips of her ears._

The memory fell from her reach.

Adhlea got up, wincing as her knees cracked; she closed her eyes to hide the stinging.

The memories were fond – _loving._ There was nothing to spoil the love he had held in his heart for her.

She gently pulled out the wolf jaw, fingering it as she walked.

“Lady Ghilan’nain, may I ask you something?” she asked when she found the ancient elf. The elf nodded, stopping whatever she was doing and turning her blind eyes to Adhlea.

“What is it?”

“Fen’Harel kept a wolf jaw – the symbol of his first kill,” she said. “Do you… Do you know if he would give it away to someone he knew was going to die?”

Ghilan’nain’s brow crinkled.

“As far as I know, he keeps the symbol of his first kill with him, always. Do you wish to know why?”

Adhlea nodded, then remembered Ghilan’nain could not see her.

“Yes, I do.”

“First, I will tell you this,” Ghilan’nain said, her voice gentling. “A secret that I only found out by pure chance.” Adhlea wondered if this was going to be a _long_ revelation. “In short, Fen’Harel was not always bound to this plane of existence. He used to be a spirit.”

Adhlea’s jaw dropped.

_…what?_

“I do not know what happened when he was created, nor do I have knowledge of the when or how. All I know is Mythal summoned him, forced him to become an elf… When whispers of his existence first reached us, we were all honestly shocked at his obeisance – _easy_ obeisance – to Mythal. One of the few who followed Mythal loyally upon meeting her; he slew our enemies in the form of a great big wolf. I only _happened_ to hear of it when Mythal was speaking to him during his introductory banquet.”

Adhlea remembered that vision in the Fade – and shivered, because he had seemed to look _right at her,_ and it was actually _entirely_ possible he _had._

“Something had startled him greatly as he was being introduced; none of us paid it any mind after that, and I cared not about his place as I was keeping my own. The wolf jaw is… I believe it is the jaw of the wolf he may have killed to assume its form. His powers were always… _unknowable.”_

_So… his interest in the Fade…_

_Does he want to return there? As a spirit?_

“I do not believe he would give it away unless he fully planned on saving you from harm, one way or another,” Ghilan’nain admitted.

And that stabbed the elvhen woman.

_If he’d planned on saving me from harm… Why does he intend to murder everyone?_

_(…everyone **includes** me…)_

She did not ask her question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...before you start throwing glasses at my head... Yeah, I said 'fuck it' and went with the 'Solas was actually a spirit' storyline. It helps, later on.
> 
> ...and if you'll see above, I referenced Fen'Harel's introductory banquet. As I did in the first story. *cough HINT HINT cough*
> 
> The Fade is, after all, veeeeeery mysterious.
> 
> (...wait a second, that's the Force isn't it?   
> Meh.   
> It's more like... something that really didn't affect any outcome. So I'm keeping it.)


	23. Chapter 23

“Oh, look at what the wolf dragged in,” Dorian said, his chipper voice completely at odds with his own true feelings. He glared at Fen’Harel even as Doshiel fingered her knives, the two strange elves looking bemused at their actions. He spotted Syven, staring at him. His heart jumped for a moment before he turned away from Fen’Harel and started up the long way to Skyhold.

There was nothing left of Lavellan and Ghilan’s stay here. Not even an abandoned tent. He strode through the wards, stopping when they turned suddenly hostile.

“ _Fen’Harel,_ you _bastard,”_ one of the strange elves snarled – only to yelp. Dorian glanced to see the woman stumble through the wards, Fen’Harel’s expression like ice as he gestured in the air once more.

The wards only became _slightly_ less hostile to the two. Dorian poked Doshiel, who glanced at him.

“Who?” he asked.

“Andruil and Dirthamen,” she said, glancing away. “And yes, I do mean _Andruil and Dirthamen,_ the ancient Elvhen of old. The ones we lauded as gods.”

They started up the ridiculously long staircase. Dorian silently curse Fen’Harel’s design of this castle; _why the fuck_ would he build on a massive stone bridge? Furthermore, how had the bridge not eroded, from all the centuries it had stood in the center of a ring of Frostback mountains?

Ah, well – a thousand questions that Dorian could figure out later.

He stepped into Skyhold and his brows shot up as he entered the courtyard.

Adhlea stood there, throwing stones at a dummy. Most of them hit the dummy; as she didn’t seem to be paying that much attention to the dummy itself.

No, instead, she was watching a rather beautiful woman drawing a mass of greenery from the ground. Dorian realized that Adhlea was not being subtle in her appreciation – judging from the half-smirk on the horned woman’s face, she could tell her work was appreciated.

Both women stopped, though, when Doshiel gave a horribly fake cough. Adhlea’s admiration for the pseudo-goddess’ magic fell to the wayside a little bit, the last stone to hit the straw dummy sadly falling to the ground. The horned woman’s plants stopped growing; the smirk fell off her face.

“Ghil!”

Andruil – Dorian presumed it was Andruil, because Andruil was a female in Dalish mythos – rushed forward. The green-haired woman smiled softly.

“Andruil,” the blind woman greeted.

Adhlea’s face fell into something of a neutral mask as she turned to the group.

“Come inside,” she said, brusquely. “I need help. Time magic is very hard to understand when you can only listen to a really powerful woman describe the intricacies of it.”

“Why?” Dorian frowned. “It’s easy to understand –“

“She can’t read,” Adhlea said, stepping up to them. Dorian frowned minutely; there was something almost _strange_ about how Adhlea looked. “She admitted that she’d forgotten how, and she also had slaves to do her writing for her.”

Dorian nodded. “Yes, that is how it goes.”

“Moreover, she can tell when people are lying,” Adhlea continued. “I have no idea what she was uttering when she told me how time magic works, and I really didn’t ask any more after she launched into a long rant about how time magic was perilous.”

“Can we help?” Hinata asked, yanking Luka behind her and looking really, _really_ excited. Luka just looked long-suffering. “I _love_ time travel theories!”

“How is it _you_ retained most of your previous memories?” Minaeve asked, tossing Hinata an unimpressed look. The human just smirked.

“Because I’m _awesome.”_

Adhlea smiled – no, _beamed_ at Hinata.

“You should all have _loads_ of fun with the time magic shite!” She clapped her hands near-childishly. “Meanwhile, Doshiel, Marina – want to have a pint? The Herald’s Rest still has some good ale left over.”

“I’m going with,” Minaeve said, changing directions and following the three heroes. “I could use a drink.”

~:~

“Okay, why did you hustle us out of there?” Doshiel demanded, setting her weapons down.

“We were targeted,” Adhlea said, any semblance of amusement or happiness wiped off her face. “Before my dream was abruptly ripped from me, we were trying to figure out why we were targeted, specifically. We figured that out, but – we didn’t understand _exactly_ why.”

“And you think you might know?” Marina asked, arching a brow. “You know, Fen’Harel asked us about you.”

She didn’t rise to the bait; instead, Adhlea just blinked at her. “Okay. Look, I think the Qunari targeted us in the best way they could – using a virtually untested magic and erasing us from that moment in time. Should we ever be found, we’d most likely be dead. Yet, none of us died. We didn’t just _appear_ in a camp. We were all separated into really weird groups, thrown into the future in fucked-up spots – this was random, and we need to figure out a way to think on _why,_ don’t you –“

“Magic,” Doshiel said, folding her hands. “Adhlea, you were thrown into the Hissing Wastes. A fire mage? Perfect environment. You were alone, though; without an ice mage. The amulets probably threw together the groupings of the people least likely to survive with each other; you were thrown into a place where you were unlikely to survive. I hate Zevran, by the way, but with me being Dalish, I can get along with anyone enough to survive.”

Doshiel and Adhlea exchanged subtle, knowledgeable nods with each other. Dalish clans, after all, could still hate each other and still come back together against an enemy.

(Even if it was temporary, because Boranehn and Lavellan were _still_ at odds and there had been that one issue over Sabrae trying to assimilate them like a century ago. Lavellan and Boranehn had worked some rather nasty shit, killed the Sabrae Keeper who had been denounced as false anyways days before his death, and Boranehn had killed the Lavellan Keeper in the middle of the victory celebration, which led to _his_ death. Doshiel, when hearing about this as a young _da’len,_ had sniggered upon hearing that the next Lavellan Keeper, a blind girl no older than ten summers named Sulahlena had used a blood-curse to make that Keeper very much impotent before he was killed. Fucking _glorious,_ the justice of the Dalish.

Then again, considering the hatred had _escalated_ in years between Lavellan and Boranehn… Doshiel wasn’t really sure what would happen. Adhlea and Syven couldn’t do _anything_ without being called ‘kin killer’ if they were in a fight, unless it was witnessed and done in either self-defense or done as part of a life or death Challenge during the Arlathvhen…)

“Wow, really?” Marina had an annoyed look on her face. “ _I_ get along with elves, you know. I managed to stay sane in yours, Zevran’s, and Minaeve’s company!”

Doshiel nodded to her. “You’re used to it, though. Zevran’s an ass, and I’m sure _I_ dragged on everyone’s nerves when I kept complaining about not being able to drink.” She shrugged at Adhlea’s small glare.

Minaeve coughed. Pointedly.

“Oh, hey, Minaeve. Forgot you were there.” Doshiel shot her a crooked grin.

“Minaeve… Minaeve!” Adhlea lifted a hand. “You –“

“I only knew the events of the Inquisition,” Minaeve interrupted, “and even there I was about as useful as a sack of fluff.”

“You were _very_ useful,” Doshiel said, nodding to the elf. “Even if you couldn’t tell us about Mythal.”

“Bitch,” Adhlea said, her voice flat. “So… about the four Evanuris currently outside.”

Doshiel groaned, dropping her head to the table. “Fucking… I hate Andruil. She keeps griping about her missing hand, and Dirthamen keeps on _talking._ I thought he was supposed to be this silent, secret-keeping god or some shit!”

“It might have to do with his power center missing,” Adhlea said.

“Your elvhen gods had power centers?” Marina wondered aloud, frowning at Adhlea.

“Yes, it was what the orb was,” Adhlea admitted. “Corypheus used Solas – _Fen’Harel’s_ orb – to create the rip in the Veil. It was one of his power centers – without them, they’re… less powerful, but still _very_ powerful. Mythal had two _known_ power centers. There’s a reason there’s a hierarchy, even in the Evanuris.”

She walked behind the bar, fixing a few drinks for everyone.

“How long have you been here? Assuming you _did_ leave after that dream thing –“ Doshiel noticed her left hand shaking as she fixed up Doshiel’s favorite drink. “- it still would have taken you a while to get here.”

“Not with Ghilan’nain,” Adhlea admitted. “I… She, um, well.” Adhlea was steadily going red. “She can turn into different creatures, not _just_ halla. She turned into a fucking _dragon.”_

Doshiel’s mouth dropped open. “She did _not.”_

Adhlea nodded. “I had a difficult time holding onto her, but – but I did _not_ dishonor her power by _asking._ She offered,” she added, quickly. “She may be blind, but she knew where Skyhold was.”

Doshiel nodded at her. “As long as you didn’t _ask.”_

Marina and Minaeve looked confused.

“It’s a… Dalish thing, I suppose,” Adhlea relented after a moment of silence. “Shape-shifters are not beasts of burden. I would not dare ask Enaste if I could _ride_ her dragon form for two reasons. One, she might take it the wrong way and even Dalish society frowns upon bestiality; and the second is because it basically dishonors their unique ability to shapeshift.”

“Can’t _everyone_ shape-shift, though?” Minaeve asked, leaning forward as Adhlea slid her a drink. “I mean, all mages could probably shape-shift into something else.”

Adhlea conceded that with a nod.

“Yeah, if you wanted to take the time and learn,” Doshiel grimaced. “Thalia here could be a dragon, if she had started earlier in life. Unlike the ancient Elvhen, we don’t have the lifespan to learn once we’ve reached a certain age – our bodies would need to be molded into the shape. Enaste started when she was very young, and she only _just_ completed her ability to shift. Thalia dabbles in all magicks _but_ that one; makes her a good jack-of-all-trades if it comes to that.”

“Huh, so some things are almost universal,” Minaeve commented.

Doshiel tossed her a look. “And I don’t _plan_ on practicing magic. Non-issue for me even if I wanted to.”

“Hmm.” Adhlea made a disagreeing face. Doshiel scowled at her.

“I like being non-magic elf,” Doshiel tartly informed her.

“To each their own,” Adhlea said, shrugging. “I think you’d be good with magic.”

Doshiel couldn’t help a small amount of warmth curling in her chest.


	24. Chapter 24

Dorian stood abruptly. “I’ve got it!”

The crowded library was suddenly silent as all of the people misplaced in this time turned their entire focus on Dorian.

“I just have to change a few symbols, but if I make amulets and change _these_ here…”

He changed the symbols on the parchment.

“And there we are. Magic, time travel…”

He grinned around the table.

“Thank the Maker,” Minaeve said, looking relieved – before her expression turned hasty. “Not that being here _wasn’t_ amazing and all. Time travel is _super fun…”_

“I understand,” Ghilan’nain laughed, waving her hand. “My personal experiences with time travel are similar.”

Dorian nodded at her.

“Similar to what Thalia and I experienced, as well. However, that was connected to the Breach and not _us_ specifically. If we make the wrong amulet, we could send all of us to the _very_ distant past. I would suggest all of us remain in close contact.”

“Agreed, but we were already doing that,” Thalia pointed out, before her head jerked to… Something. Ghilan’nain’s face drained of color, leaving the green patterns on her face starkly visible.

“Falon’Din is here,” she whispered.

Thalia glanced at Dorian. “Get those amulets made,” she said. Doshiel grinned nastily as she hopped off the table she was sitting on, setting the open book carelessly on the table. “I’ll go see about keeping him out.”

She left the room, Doshiel winking and following her.

~:~

“I have the elves in my company keeping a solid watch on them,” Fen’Harel informed her, his blue eyes distant. Adhlea swallowed everything she wanted to say.

“You fucked up,” Doshiel blurted from behind her.

Adhlea pressed her lips together. “Doshiel.” Her voice was quiet.

“No,” Doshiel refuted. “I want him to know. You fucked up, _bad.”_ The Warden strode up to meet him, nose-to-nose, and Adhlea could see why she was terrifying. Known as a drunk or not, Adhlea was suddenly feeling very small against her stormy eyes – an expression given to Fen’Harel. Fen’Harel met her eyes coolly. “Give me one good reason I don’t kill you here,” the Warden said, her eyes flat.

“Because killing _this_ version does nothing except kill a version of him,” Adhlea said, her voice flat. “And whatever he has done, it will not be him that we have to deal with.”

She quelled whatever fear she felt at Doshiel’s dark gaze; Doshiel scowled and cracked her neck.

“Fine.”

Adhlea met Fen’Harel’s gaze; his eyes moved away from hers. She straightened her clothes.

“How can we help?”

“You cannot,” Ghilan’nain said, appearing from nowhere. “Not by much. If you strengthen the wards, you might be able to hold Falon’Din off – I’ll show you to a wardstone.”

Adhlea nodded.

“I would suggest you both come with me,” Ghilan’nain added.

“Thalia,” Fen’Harel said as they turned. “I would like to say something to you, alone.”

She nodded, almost unwillingly.

Doshiel gave him a soundless snarl as a warning, her face fierce and angry as she followed Ghilan’nain.

“Did you want –“ she started, turning to look at him, only to be swept up in a kiss.

It was far from chaste; Adhlea couldn’t help but respond to it as he stole her breath away.

She didn’t break it, not even when she needed air. She had wanted this, again – wanted to kiss him again, to be this close to him.

Finally, he back off, panting slightly.

“I have wanted to do that since I laid eyes on you again,” he said. Adhlea touched her tingling lips. “I never should have taken control of your dream, _vhenan._ Add it to the list of wrongs.”

He brushed her face with his knuckles before vanishing, Fade-stepping away.

Adhlea swallowed before walking out the opposite way, hurrying after Ghilan’nain and trying to take her mind off that kiss.

“Here is the wardstone,” Ghilan’nain said, kneeling next to a broken-off stone. “Use your blood-magic, Mistress Lavellan, and you will be more in-tune with the wards. Doshiel, keep watch over her. Make certain she does not get too low on magic or too deep in the wards.”

“And how will I know if she gets either?” Doshiel asked, her voice dry.

“When she becomes unresponsive.” Ghilan’nain’s voice was crisp. “Place your hands upon the wardstone.” She moved from near the stone; Adhlea made a small little cut on her arm and sat down in front of it.

The wardstone lit up, glowing with blue light. Adhlea set her hands upon the stone.

At once, she could feel _everything_ in Skyhold and around it – she could feel Andruil’s wildness, Dirthamen’s cloud of darkness – and an oily feeling outside of Skyhold. She felt Fen’Harel there, too – ice inside of something so foreign that was so familiar and tamped down. She could feel the Wolf within him – intimately, almost.

Dorian was almost done with the amulets, she knew after grasping the fundamentals of this ability. She could disconnect and connect at points; Skyhold let her have free reign.

The keep was connected to her through the wardstone, deriving her of her magical power. Still, she found herself drawn to the conflict with Solas and Falon’Din; just as she got there, Andruil –

Skyhold screamed.

Adhlea heard Ghilan’nain screaming.

Adhlea screamed.

Andruil _stabbed_ Fen’Harel, right next to the edge of the wards. Adhlea watched as Fen’Harel collapsed.

Through the wards, she watched him _die._

~:~

Adhlea woke up screaming on the seat she’d been sitting on while in Tevinter. Her screams caused everyone in the room to flinch; the door slammed open, but Adhlea felt like her head was splitting.

A massive fist broke her nose.

“Sorry, Boss,” the Iron Bull said, looking regretful as she tried to focus on him through blurry-as-fuck vision, “but that screaming was –“

“Bull, shut up,” Dorian said, his voice terse. “Adhlea, can you hear me?”

She nodded.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

She could, yes.

“I was…” Her voice cracked, her nose throbbed angrily. “I was part of the wards.” She swallowed. “Then I was everywhere, and I could feel them – I never should have let her in, I _knew_ they kept them out for a good reason, but they were – I honestly thought they would detect any ill will – or at least –“

Her breath caught. She felt a wild scream building in her again.

“Adhlea, focus,” Dorian said, slapping her face a little, his face serious. “ _What. Happened?_ I got to you when you started screaming –“

“He died,” she said, letting her nose go, and she couldn’t understand it. She couldn’t understand how her world was supposed to be all right when one moment she got to see him _die._ “She killed him, Dorian. The wards were originally his, you know. Even though they’re mine now. I saw Andruil kill him.”

His face paled. “Were you one with the wards?”

“We screamed,” Adhlea said, softly.

She looked down in her lap and saw the weapons, still pretty pristine but with Hissing Wastes sand on them.

“What… exactly are we missing?” Syven asked.

“Time travel, we were all thrown five years into the future,” Minaeve said, succinctly. “Shitty time. I think Fen’Harel was killed by Andruil. I hope she didn’t stab him in the back – pretty honorless thing to do.”

“She did,” Adhlea croaked. “She kicked his body through the wards. _Bitch,”_ Adhlea snarled, standing up and shoving past the Iron Bull. “He thought she was on his side, he thought she was truly going to help him, and she _stabbed him through the back!”_

She turned, whirled, and ran past everyone, slamming through the window in time for her elvhen eyes to see a tall, horned form running around a building.

Her face in a Dalish snarl, she recalled the lessons of the past and hunted down the Qunari bastard who had sent her to that future.


	25. Chapter 25

“This is getting to be a habit,” Petrus said, seeing the coat of the Inquisitor in his home. “And invasive, Inquisitor.”

He heard nothing in his home. Arching a brow and lighting a few more candles, he spotted a lamp light on the floor of the bathing room.

He opened the door without knocking.

She was scrubbing vigorously at her hands, which were red and raw. She wasn’t naked; her clothes simply clung to her where they were wet.

“Inquisitor.”

She jumped, hand flying to a dagger, rag flying against the wall.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“This _is_ my home,” he said, rather pointedly.

She blinked, looking around.

“Oh,” she whispered, a flush appearing on her face. “I – I do apologize. I did not realize –“

Petrus just sighed and shook his head, moving away. “At least you’re not here to kill me,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Whiskey?”

“Please,” she said.

He poured her a glass, a generous one. He gestured to a seat, any seat, as he handed it to her. The leader of the Inquisition perched on the edge of a chair, staring at the drink for a moment.

“Why are you here, out of curiosity?” he asked. “I mean, it was clearly a mistake, but what –“

“Have you ever amplified wardstones?” Her question brought him up short.

“Once,” he replied. “I have wards over my home. No person of ill will can get in. Amplifying doesn’t need to be done but a few times over the course of centuries, if they’re old wards… Why?”

“You know Skyhold is thousands of years old,” she said. “And the Qunari that I killed sent us forward in time to a pretty shitty future.” She took a big gulp of whiskey.

Petrus stared at her. This was…

“Similar to the Alexius incident?”

“Similar, but not quite.” She shook her head. “I was in Skyhold, augmenting the wards… And then they broke. While I was apart of them.”

Dangerous. He wasn’t surprised she gotten messed up. Her mental faculties were probably scrambled right then.

“Do you need any medical help?”

“No,” she said. “I suppose I find you easier to deal with than my companions. I don’t particularly think you want everything I say to be known to the public.”

“No, you’re not wrong,” he admitted, “but I am not here for you to just speak to.”

She paused, looking at him.

~:~

Maybe it was the alcohol in her body, but she set the glass on the table.

“No, you’re not.” She stood – he did, too. “I want to try something,” she said, stepping up and looking into the Black Divine’s dark eyes. “If I have your permission.”

His lips curved into a smile.

“I would not say _no,”_ he replied to her.

She leaned up and kissed him.

It was far different from the first time a human had placed their lips upon hers, back when she was younger. For this instance, he was actually far gentler; and for another, Adhlea did not entirely feel repulsed upon thinking of this.

He placed his hands upon her hips as he deepened the kiss; Adhlea broke it for a moment and allowed him to lift her shirt up and off, leaving only her chest bindings and her leather necklace.

Right as he bent down, putting his hand near her chest, something sent her crashing backwards – a burst of green light that sobered her up.

“Well,” the Divine said, from his place on the ground. “What… just happened?”

“I sobered up,” Adhlea said, an ache beginning to pound on her head. “And I’m leaving, before I em…”

She stopped, unable to speak as a spike of pain drove into her head. This was far different than the typical ‘drank the night before and I am feeling it in the morning’; this was a spike of pain that flooded her senses and did not go away.

Instead, it just _grew._


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics in quotations are Elvhen if spoken by Syven or Adhlea, or thought processes that go on.
> 
> Also, this story more focuses on 'culture', I think, more than the last one did, mostly because the 'culture' part of the story was overshadowed by Corypheus and the fact I had no idea where I was actually going to go with it! I wanted to make Dalish culture a bit more obvious (I mean, she's still Dalish!) while integrating a bit more of the cultures around them. We don't really have MUCH in the way of the culture - like the fine details of courting someone - so I can only hope what I post stays true to the overall idea of the story.
> 
> ...okay, so yeah. I'm trying to incorporate cool ideas and hope you stay while I'm writing them, because I am doing my best to keep it a little simpler while also getting the story further along.

“Can you speak?” Minaeve asked.

The Inquisitor nodded. She then spoke, and Minaeve realized the problem.

“Oh… You can’t speak Common.”

Minaeve turned to Hinata.

Hinata nodded. “I will take it from here,” she said, moving and settling her hands on Adhlea’s head.

Adhlea shook her head –

“Quit it, I’m trying to help.”

Adhlea shook her head and motioned writing.

Hinata scowled, but moved her hands from Adhlea to grab some parchment and a writing utensil before shoving it at Adhlea.

Adhlea wrote in Common; Minaeve felt relief, but also…

_I think it has to do with me being inside Skyhold’s wards when the snapped and we snapped back to our time. I can’t speak Common right now, but I’ll try to on the way to Asarie._

Minaeve arched a brow. “Hinata might be able to heal –“

_NO_

Adhlea scowled at them.

_I will not have Hinata suffering the pain of my condition._

Minaeve glanced at Hinata, who looked surprised.

_If there is more damage, I would not pass it upon anyone else. As long as I write in Common, I should be fine._

“What if you’re unable to write in Common?” Minaeve ticked up a brow.

“I can teach her sign language,” offered Hinata. Minaeve looked confused for a moment.

“She remembers,” Luka assured Minaeve, smirking.

~:~

“Where _are_ we going?” Syven asked aloud as they traveled along. Adhlea shook her head, tossing a look at Hinata.

“It’s a surprise,” Hinata said for her.

Dorian cleared his throat. “Perhaps now would be a good time to tell them what happened, exactly,” he said, arching a brow at Adhlea. Syven watched his sister nod – and remain quiet.

“So, here’s the thing,” Hinata said, a smile freezing on her face. “The wards collapsed just as we were pulled back to the moment we left, and – well. It’s given Thalia some form of limited ----, or a form of mental linguistic issues. Thalia can write Common, but what comes out of her mouth is… Elvhen.”

“Limited _what?”_ Syven asked, wondering what she meant.

 _“A-fay-shuh,”_ Hinata repeated. “In my tongue, it means… mental linguistic issues.” She shrugged. “I’m just guessing, here. It’s not like I’m an _actual_ medic. Or a mind-analyst.”

Adhlea scribbled on parchment, then showed Minaeve.

Minaeve pressed her lips together for a moment.

“No,” she said. “I can’t explain what you went through –“

The Inquisitor glared at her, the temperature raising in the carriage. The heat died; there was a risk of them all dying of heatstroke if she continued flaring her power.

“Basically, we were all thrown five years into the future,” Dorian summarized. “With Hawke and Doshiel – Hawke, Doshiel, Minaeve, and Zevran Arainai were all stuck together, I was with Luka and Hinata, and Thalia was alone. She ran into Fen’Harel, the Black Divine, and –“ Dorian paused, then continued. “And you.”

Syven tilted his head towards his sister, who was looking outside the carriage window, lips pressed together as they rode over uneven roads.

He was slowly learning Elvhen, using some of the older Elvhen elves still hanging around Skyhold – usually hidden, and in the stolen moments he had when he wasn’t doing his Inquisitorial shite – but he didn’t know _that_ much. Still, he supposed now was better than never to speak it.

_“What troubles you?”_

All eyes turned to him, but he stared at his surprised sister.

 _“A lot of things,”_ Adhlea replied. “ _But most of all, I watched Fen’Harel die.”_ She paused. _“Or get injured – I knew there was a fucking good reason the wards were resistant to letting Andruil in, but –“_

 _“Wait, wait – did you say_ Andruil?” He stared at her in shock. He must’ve misheard –

“ _Yes,”_ his sister replied. “ _Andruil, Ghilan’nain, and Dirthamen were all at Skyhold.”_

Syven could _feel_ the blood draining from his face as he realized the implications.

 _“He succeeded,”_ Adhlea murmured, a darkness stealing across her face, “ _and more than that, my brother – he controls **them.”**_

A chill settled upon his shoulders.

“Oh, Maker’s balls,” he said, barely moving his lips.

 _“Andruil murdered Fen’Harel,”_ his sister said, “ _while I was augmenting the wards – I was a **part** of them, my mind part of them.”_

Well, okay – he hadn’t thought he’d gotten _this_ good at understanding Elvhen, but apparently he was better off than he thought.

_“And then the wards shattered when he died… I was there, in mind and spirit… Galifalon, she **stabbed him in the back!”**_

A look of pure wrath danced over her face at that moment; Syven felt a reaction of similar proportions taking over his own face.

The Dalish took matters of honor seriously. One did not kill with a stab to the back – wound, distract – those were okay – without it being in protection of another. And even then, it had to be in extraordinary circumstance. That was _cowardice._

Stabbing _from_ the back was allowed, just not _in_ the back. There was one clan which had dissolved purely because of their idiocy and ‘stab people in the back’ policy.

Fen’Harel was a powerful warrior in his own right. The least he deserved was a fucking decent fight.

He struggled to contain his anger, letting his expression die as his sister’s faded.

“Okay, elves,” Hinata said, bitingly, “care to share?”

Syven answered, his voice clipped. “She was there when the wards shattered. Fen’Harel was stabbed in the back.” Disgust filled his voice.

The city-elf, her human friend, and Dorian all looked confused at his anger.

_Right. Not Elvhen._

“Stabbing someone in the back is the pinnacle of cowardice,” Syven said, internally rolling his eyes at their ignorance. “You’ll notice that we aim for the front if we come from the back – we don’t stab people in the back unless it’s needed. Andruil – the so-called _goddess of the hunt_ – stabbed Fen’Harel, a fucking _badass warrior,_ in the back. When it _wasn’t_ necessary. She _backstabbed_ a warrior.”

Amused looks were exchanged.

“You’re talking about Solas,” Minaeve said, looking skeptical. Even Dorian had a brow raised; given that Solas was more known for his magic than anything else –

“Make no mistake,” Syven said, his voice soft. “The side of Solas you saw was more than likely the one tempered with the facts he’d practically ended the world once, softened further by the care he had for Adhlea.” He paused. “From the records we’ve scraped together from Dirthamen’s temple, Fen’Harel was considered a warrior god, on par with or parallel to Andruil herself.” _And a sex god, but that’s neither here nor there._ “Before he became one of the Evanuris, he was Mythal’s general.”

 _“He took down a great enemy and earned his name then,”_ Adhlea said, her voice low. _“Possibly humans then, but apparently it was impressive enough that they left the Elvhen alone – and he got a seat with the Evanuris.”_

“He defeated a bunch of Mythal’s enemies and took on the moniker then,” Syven summarized.

“But… he has such shit taste in clothes,” Hinata said, no longer looking quite so amused – which begged the question –

“Hinata, _when_ did you meet Solas, exactly?”

Hinata’s eyes widened, her face paling.

 _“Easy, brother.”_ Syven glanced to Adhlea. “ _I shall tell you later.”_

“Fine. Whatever. Point is, Solas can hold his own. He’s not someone to fuck around with; and I’m betting his whole ‘apostate’ shtick was to get closer to his damned Anchor.” He tossed an apologetic look to his sister, who rolled her eyes. “Come on, sister – in the three years since Corypheus, we haven’t talked about your poor choice in lovers.”

His sister gave him the finger.

“No thanks, I’d rather not.” He smirked as she kicked him.

“I’d heard he was dangerous, but – it’s probably another thing to see it.” Minaeve frowned.

Adhlea nodded in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a medical professional. Hinata, however, was going to be a doctor. How Hinata's power works is she heals people and takes on their pain twice over; while Adhlea knows this, Adhlea does not know if - it being a more mind issue - the aphasia translates to Hinata, which is why she refused.
> 
> Aphasia is a real thing. It was the closest thing I could find to explain her injury. She CAN understand Elvhen and Common, as can Syven (as long as it isn't spoken fast). 
> 
> Oh, and real quick - Hinata retained her eidetic memory from her previous life. It took Minaeve holding onto an item similar to one of her past to realize that yes, she was an MGIT. Luka remembered only with Hinata's appearance. Hinata alone is the eidetic memory girl.
> 
> *I'd like to also say that it may seem like she just 'gets over it', but... Well. You'll see.*


	27. Asarie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes home.

Dorian stepped out of the carriage, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Days of camping left a lot to be desired; as he peered upon what was to be their home for a few weeks – according to Thalia, anyway – he felt a vague sense of familiarity.

“Master Dorian!” A small slave elf he recognized dashed down the steps, her brown hair tied up in a neat bun. “Yakob, it’s Master Dorian!”

She threw her arms up.

“Evaris,” he said, recalling her name belatedly.

Evaris froze and bowed.

“Master,” she said, the joy obvious.

Yakob, the old butler, bowed his head and smiled genially.

“Evaris, get inside,” the butler instructed, patting her shoulder as he passed her. “Tell the Mistress her son is home.”

The elf nodded, jerking around and running inside.

“Master Dorian,” Yakob said, smiling. “And this must be your lovely wife.”

Yakob clapped Dorian’s shoulder, then bowed to Thalia.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, glancing towards the back of their carriage.

Hinata popped from the back, bowing courteously at Yakob.

“You must be Yakob,” she said. “My lady Inquisitor has suffered an injury quite recently that left her unable to speak Common. She means to say that she is pleased that she is here.”

The butler bowed his head.

“Come, let us greet the ladies of House Pavus,” Yakob said, looking up and smiling toothily at Dorian.

~:~

The Lady of House Pavus stood inside the parlor, awaiting her son. Her daughters Aurelia, Octavia, and Vita were all arrayed, polite masks over their faces.

Valentina did not blame them.

Upon receiving a letter by the Inquisitor, Valentina had been cautious. The Inquisitor had been vague – until one of her letters had put Valentina at ease.

 _Dorian is one of my best men,_ she had mentioned at one point. _I simply want to know if you have come to terms with his preferred choice in partners._

It had been a throwaway comment, one that only jumped out to Valentina because it was in the middle of the Inquisitor offering some herbal advice upon learning of Valentina’s limited expertise in that area.

Still, if this was just a huge trap…

Evaris entered the room, bowing.

“My Ladies, the Lord Pavus has arrived.”

Valentina had been wary, upon the younger woman’s letters halting so abruptly, then she’d asked to visit after her wedding ceremony to a nice Tevinter man.

Valentina’s eyes widened at Evaris’ words.

Evaris had been present at Dorian’s disownment, surely she was mistaken? Or perhaps the Inquisitor _was_ here, but with him and her new husband?

“Show them in at once,” Aurelia said, standing – barely keeping her own excitement under wraps.

All three of her daughters were wed to magisters, but with the issues in the Magisterium all three had been sent here – this was their home away from their husbands. Their husbands didn’t know the exact location – Asarie was large enough to hide them. Asarie acted as a safe haven for many of the ladies of the Magisterium.

“- hotter than a fucking fire dragon’s fire breath,” Dorian’s voice said. “Right?”

“Yep,” a female voice said, sounding utterly bored.

“Come _on,_ it deserves more than a bored ‘yep’, Hinata.”

“The Hissing Wastes deserves _less_ than a bored ‘yep’.”

“Dorian,” Vita whispered, hands clutched in her skirts – and then he appeared.

Valentina retained her composure for a brief minute as her son appeared, looking largely unchanged since the last time she’d seen him – there was a harder edge to his face, a sort of wariness that only came from years of battle – or years of being hunted.

“Mother,” he said, stiffly.

A human girl popped out from behind him.

“Lady Pavus,” the Healer said, curtsying, “as I have told your butler, the Lady Inquisitor has very recently suffered an injury that makes her unable to speak Common. I am to speak in her stead, as… difficult as it may be for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...if I get hate reviews from this chapter, I'd like to point out that Dorian's family is a magister family. It's unlikely his family DIDN'T have slaves. I'd also like to say he'd probably treat them quite like the elves he's been interacting with for the better part of.... seven years, I believe his timeline has been with this version?
> 
> I'd also like to imagine that not every higher-class family is a bastard to slaves in Tevinter. But considering that most magister families DID have slaves... I CRINGED as I wrote this chapter. 
> 
> I do not like the notion of slaves. People are people. No matter what. I LITERALLY HATE the mention of 'slavery' because the thought that a person was owned by another person here in the States until the late 1800s pisses me the fuck off. I HATE the notion of slavery.
> 
> So, Evaris and the other slaves of Dorian's family's Asarie household are treated as well as servants are in Orlais... possibly even better, mostly because I've mostly written Orlais as a country full of arrogant assholes. I mean, a country of arrogant assholes would treat their servants pretty damn badly, in my opinion.
> 
> ...the lack of whatever Valentina's opinion was when Adhlea wrote her isn't shown here. I'd imagine that, whatever Valentina and her daughters think, they just want their son and brother back to them. If you want to see the letters, I'll finish writing them and put them in the 'Missing Letters' story. I WAS trying to make it more Dragon Age-y with the whole 'find notes in weird places' in the last story, but I've been super busy, so if you really want to see 'em write a review and I'll post 'em there soon. Ish.
> 
> K. Read and review!


	28. Chapter 28

Adhlea endured as much as she could; Lady Valentina’s reaction to Syven and The Iron Bull went better than expected; Lady Valentina had simply shown surprise that Dorian was sleeping with _two_ men.

Conveying she was exhausted was not easy; she had to mime – _embarrassingly_ – sleeping for Hinata to get it, but she managed to offer a small bow in apology.

She fell upon her bed gracelessly after shucking her clothes and changing, tears gathering in her eyes.

Before long, she was crying into the pillow.

They were mostly tears of frustration, anguish, and pain. She was frustrated she could only speak Elvhen, anguished about Solas’ death – _he had been cut down in front of her –_ and in constant pain because of what she’d done with the wards.

 _I am sorry,_ Isera murmured. _I wish we could help, but…_

 _You cannot,_ Adhlea whispered, sniffling and turning on her back, staring up at the canopy. _Not unless you can take me back to when I was ignorant._

 _…do you really want that?_ Isera sounded confused.

“No.” She lifted a hand. “It’s bad, though. Bad enough that I must play games with Celene and Leliana; now I cannot speak Common, and it took me _months_ to learn that.”

Isera sank into the murmurs without speaking again; Adhlea closed her eyes, not intending to fall asleep – but she sank into the Fade with little prompting.

The Fade was misty; Adhlea walked forward without actually having a direction, resigning herself to this moment for now. She’d tried her best to avoid it, but –

But she stopped in the mist, and thought back.

 _I do not believe he would give it away unless he fully planned on saving you from harm, one way or another._ The words Ghilan’nain had spoken to her echoed, over and over, inside Adhlea’s mind.

She sat down on the nonexistent bottom, closing her eyes and sitting cross-legged, her hands limp over her knees as she focused. The Fade caressed her face in an almost unnoticeable way, and as she opened her eyes –

Her breath caught.

Around her, Skyhold stood – she was inside its hall. Fen’Harel as he was long ago stood alone, a book next to him – a book of spells, a way to erect the Veil, judging by his wearied expression. He walked away; Adhlea jerked and ran after him, her steps silent. The book flew through Adhlea and into his grasp.

She wondered even now if he could feel her, for he stopped and looked almost directly at her, his eyes narrowed.

“Fucking spirits,” he said.

She couldn’t resist a reply. “You probably were just like this, _ass.”_ She blinked. “Maker, why am I replying?”

He turned away.

“If you’re here to convince me to stop, spirit, go away from here.”

Wait a second…

“Wait, no – can you _seriously_ hear me? That’s impossible – unless –“ Her eyes widened, placing a hand at her neck. _Is it possible?_ “I don’t understand,” she said.

He sighed, dropping the book to the ground. “You must be a new spirit.”

_Not a spirit…_

“Given enough time and power, a spirit could mess with time and space and reality itself, creating a different future from the one they left.” He flicked his hand; Adhlea felt something spark in both her arm and at her neck. He turned.

She shrank under his gaze, wondering if he saw something pathetic standing there; instead, he just frowned.

 _He doesn’t see **me.**_ Whether or not she was actually conversing with _Solas thousands of years in the past,_ she _was_ mostly just dreaming, so… It still didn’t account for him calling her a _spirit._ More than likely, her form was being… loosely translated.

And if she’d been any other elf at this point in time, she’d be begging him – hands _down_ she’d probably be begging him to leave the Fade alone.

But unlike any other elf – except Doshiel – they had not had the absolute misfortune to come across Mythal. Mythal, for all her ‘goddess of protection’ shtick… was about as benevolent as the Viddasala had been. And a thousand times worse.

And she’d been there, not long ago – seeing Andruil stab Fen’Harel _in the fucking back –_

“I’m not going to ask you to leave the Fade alone,” she said, steadily. “To be honest, I don’t even know if this is real.” Why would she ever just appear like this? This was probably an illusion, an image of desire created and manipulated by a desire demon. “But even if it isn’t – even if it _is_ real – I… I still believe you should do it. That is what is necessary.”

His brow furrowed.

“…you are not like many spirits,” he said, decidedly.

“No. Not a spirit, actually. Just…” She laughed a little. “Just a dreamer.”

He furrowed his brow and reached -

She jerked awake.

Asarie daylight poured over her. Light breaths beside her indicated either Minaeve or Hinata lay in the same bed; Adhlea grabbed some clothes and used the changing screen to change the clothes she wore into something less… _heavy._

Her normal tunic and leggings ensemble would look very strange in Tevinter, so she dressed in a normal dress. Still elegant and refined – so as not to let them have the mistake of referring to her as a slave – but tamped down from the magister’s robe by far.

She left the room. Elves stopped and stared as she swept through the household, but Adhlea ignored them all as she found her way to the parlor.

She rapped on the doorway. Lady Pavus looked up.

“Lady Inquisitor,” Lady Pavus said.

Adhlea bit her lip. “Lady –“ Elvhen slipped out. _Shit._ She grimaced and nodded to the other.

Lady Pavus smiled a bit. “Ah, yes. The injury.”

She gestured to the chair across from her.

Adhlea took it.

“Quite early for you to be up, is it not?” inquired the human.

Adhlea arched a brow at her.

Lady Pavus smiled. “I am usually up at this time.”

_Ah._

“Thank you for sending the letters. I feared I would not see my son ever again.” Lady Pavus folded her hands on her lap. “You have given me a gift I could never repay.” Her eyes met Adhlea’s, full of warmth.

A knock sounded.

“Enter,” Lady Pavus said.

Yakob entered, a bird perched on his arm.

“A letter for the Lady Inquisitor.” He smiled genially at Adhlea.

Adhlea smiled and clicked her fingers; the bird flew to her.

Adhlea opened it, her eyes widening in shock – and happiness.

_The Inquisitor Lavellan is asked to attend the marriage ceremony of Lady Marina Hawke and her fiancé, Fenris._

An additional notation was written, in Hawke’s hand.

_Bring one person, please. It’s going to be a small ceremony._

She stood, gesturing to the door; Dorian’s mother smiled and nodded.

Adhlea rushed to her brother’s room, rapping on the door.

She heard a groan; then the door cracked open.

“What?” her brother asked, cracking an eye opened.

“Fenris is getting married to Hawke. I’d like to go. Want to come?”

Syven sighed. “When do we leave? I assume we’ll be in a rush?”

Adhlea nodded. “If we want to get there by the date, we’ll have to leave by tonight and be there in two weeks – hard riding, and if we stop to rest the horses, we’ll just _barely_ make it.”

Syven groaned, but nodded. “Hard riding it is.”

Neither of them wanted to be in Tevinter more than necessary; this got them out of it earlier.

“I’ll get my shit packed.”

She nodded briskly before leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...you may interpret this as 'Skyhold is awesomely magical and I wish Skyhold was legit like Hogwarts as in massively powerful'. Because it's exactly like that.  
> Also. Kinda important moment here.
> 
> (...do you hate that i'm kinda wish-fulfilling a lil' bit? If so... Ehhhh... I haven't touched upon this moment with how far I've gotten. This is pretty much a one-off. You can pretend it didn't happen, or it did. Either way.)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I got into Witcher. To be clear: No Witcher characters are mine (clearly). I also ONLY added names and/or personalities - there is no 'witcher' in the DA universe (that I know of) - of characters inside the Witcher universe. It's BARELY an xover, and only because I got REALLY into Witcher but REALLY didn't want to write a full fanfic on it. All pasts are pretty different; the only thing that I added from the Witcher is Kaer Morhen, and that's... later on. Much, MUCH later on.

There were rather only a few things Geralt found he liked about this country.

One, it wasn’t the Seheron, where he’d been sold to for experiments by the Tal-Vashoth, and two – the lack of monsters.

Though, honestly, that could be attributed to the almost freakish amount of reverence for the dead in this country, too, so really.

Point was – Geralt liked something for a change. He liked it, and didn’t wish for it to change. Yet, anyway.

He eyed the orphan girl who kept stumbling into other people.

So long as she stayed well away from him, he was all right with her.

The door opened. Like many – including him – this pair had traveling cloaks on their bodies. Neither seemed inclined to dropping the hoods as many people had. This wasn’t the type of tavern to discriminate; Geralt saw a couple elves hidden in a corner, a dwarf sulking – of course the crowd _was_ mostly human, but really.

The orphan made her way to them. Both stepped away from her, towards the only empty table in the place. Geralt scowled into his tankard. _Great,_ they were going to be near _him._ His general aura was ‘fuck off’.

The elves in the corner had gone ramrod straight, staring at the cloaked figures with interested faces.

The barmaid approached their table.

“What’ll it be for ya?”

“Two tankards of ale and some bread,” a low, male voice said. “We’ll only be here for a few moments.”

“Comin’ right up.”

The barmaid vanished.

“Think we’re safe?” the man asked.

Low, lyrical words spilled from his companion; Geralt involuntary glanced over. _Elvhen?_

“I _know_ we’re never safe, but we’re safer here than in Tevinter. We shouldn’t be so paranoid.”

Low, slightly annoyed Elvish came from his companion.

“Whatever. We just need time for the horses to rest.”

The elves stood from their table.

“Excuse me,” one of the elves said, trying to appear friendly. Her eyes were locked on the one who’d spoken Elvhen. “Are you two Fen’Harel’s kin?”

“Hardly,” scoffed the male elf. “Now kindly fuck off.”

 _“Isa’ma’lin,”_ admonished the woman.

The elf man sighed, annoyed.

“Well, would you like to hear about what he’s planning to do to free the People?”

“I am not in the _least_ bit interested in what that bald, hobo-looking elf is doing.”

Geralt choked a bit on his drink.

He felt attention on him as he cleared his throat noisily.

“How _dare_ you,” hissed the visible elf man, his eyes glaring down at the cloaked man. “Do you know what Fen’Harel has done for the People?”

“Yes… And you know what?” the cloaked man sounded really perky. Geralt honestly wished he could see his expression as he spoke again. “ _I still don’t care,”_ the cloaked man continued, his voice now deadpan. “He’s still the bald hobo apostate bastard to me.”

“Fen’Harel is _saving_ the People!”

“Yeah, and it wouldn’t – _dammit,_ sister!” The elf jerked in his seat.

 _Oh, Maker’s balls,_ Geralt had really, _really_ needed this. It really was dinner and a show.

“Please let us be,” the hidden female said, enunciating slowly. “Your attempts to educate us will not work.” The barmaid set down their bread; one of the elves set enough coin down.

“You really don’t give a damn that Fen’Harel’s gonna liberate the People, huh? He and that Orlesian elf duchess would make quite a pair.”

Both cloaked elves choked on their drink, though one of them was shaking for some reason.

“I think the duchess is doing more for the People.”

“She _employs_ elves and hasn’t been liberating them from Tevinter! If anything, she should go to Fen’Harel and _beg_ for his attention.”

The tankard, the very _sturdy_ and _wood_ tankard, shattered in the grasp of one of the elves.

In the silence, the elf stood. Their companion started to laugh loudly.

“Move,” the female elf snapped, sounding pissed off.

“What, a fan?” one of the elves called.

She shoved them aside; one of the elves looked annoyed.

“Hey, don’t –“

The cloak was yanked off the woman’s frame.

A pindrop silence was heard as she whirled, anger in every moment.

“Oh, fuck,” whispered one of the elves. “You’re –“

She was _Dalish._

There was at least one clan of Dalish elves in Nevarra; Geralt himself had been one of them before being stolen by Tevinters and sold to the Tal-Vashoth for the experiments. He had zero inclination to join them again, but it was still interesting to see city elves stare and pale at seeing a redheaded Dalish elf with a _vallaslin._

Then again, considering her state of dress…

“Oh, this is fucking _hilarious,_ sister.” The redheaded woman turned her angry grey eyes to her companion, who shoved his own hood off and showed a similar face to hers – equally scarred, equally handsome. His laughter died off, though, as he smiled at the elves. “We’re leaving now,” he said, grabbing the bread.

“I don’t think so,” one of the elves said, his hand going to a knife.

(Ignore, ignore… Geralt tried to pay attention to his own meager meal, one he’d been nursing for quite a while.)

“You just spoke of Fen’Harel as a savior of the People,” the redheaded woman said, her words coming faster. “Not so much a savior if he’s getting you all _killed_ defending his own fucking honor, right?”

“I don’t really think he’d care if we killed _you,”_ one of the elves hissed. “You’re a fucking traitor, O _Herald.”_

The redheaded woman arched a brow. “I didn’t _ask_ for that,” she said, mildly.

“You didn’t deny it, either,” one of the elves countered.

“No, but I never seriously _claimed_ to be,” she said, smiling. “But if we’re going to fight to the death, perhaps it would be better if it was outside?”

The atmosphere became charged, one of the elves pulling out a crystal. A mage crystal – everyone started to move, right before heat pressed down on the small tavern. The redhead’s eyes started to glow.

“Don’t even _try it,”_ she said, her voice dangerous. “And as you go about recruiting for Fen’Harel’s fucking cause, think about _how_ he’s planning on ‘ _saving the People’_. At least _I_ don’t resolve to fucking –“

“ _Adhlea.”_ Her brother wasn’t smiling anymore. He was beside her, shutting her up. He leaned closer and hissed something in her ear; she pressed her lips together and snatched her cloak out of the other’s hands, sliding it on and yanking the hood up.

Geralt crammed the rest of his meal into his mouth.

“Hey, elf –“

“Fuck. Off,” he grunted, stalking out behind the redheads. He made sure to make noise.

Both elves glanced to him.

“What?” the redheaded woman – Adhlea, the other had addressed her, demanded sharply.

“You guys headed somewhere that has monsters?”

“We don’t need protecting,” the man said, his voice flat.

“I wasn’t asking if you needed protecting, I was asking if where you were going has monsters,” he said, flatly. Both looked at each other.

“Probably,” Adhlea said, shrugging. “If you say a word about Fen’Harel, then I will stab you,” she added, seemingly as an afterthought.

“I actually don’t give a damn about Fen’Harel, whoever he is.”

Geralt, later, would later regret even _hearing_ the name Fen’Harel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Geralt is NOT the love interest for the story. You've... actually already seen who it is, but... *snickers* might not guess correctly. (Only snickering because I am actually wondering just how tired I was when I wrote that certain person as the love interest...)
> 
> If you DO guess correctly... Kudos to you! I'm not going to spoil it!


	30. Chapter 30

Garrett Hawke hadn’t seen his sister for a number of years. He preferred to find odd jobs rather than settle in Kirkwall like she had – hearing about her deeds? Well, he preferred not to just pop up and question her about them.

Nah, instead he waited for an opportune moment.

The moment came.

A crow was at his bedpost, its eyes gazing eerily at him. Garrett had gotten remarkably trashed the previous night; his head pounded as he read the wedding invite.

Of course, until he got there, he didn’t even think about _how_ a messenger bird found him.

He stared at his sister’s mansion with wide eyes.

“Garrett!”

His sister threw herself at him with a wide smile.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly – he spotted Mother in the entrance, being held up by Melody. “So, Marina… Did you invite the _entire_ family?”

“Just ours,” Marina confirmed, then smirked. “And a few friends I’ve made on the way. Oh!” Her eyes widened. “Come, you have to meet my fiancé!”

_Hopefully it’s not an elf._

“His three siblings were invite – oh, _fuck,_ I think I forgot to invite his brother, and he probably won’t be too pleased to see Varaina… Ah, well. Fenris!”

A white-haired elf turned, his expression sour and annoyed. Garrett’s eyes widened at the lyrium decorating his body; the elf’s expression soured even further.

“ _This_ is your brother,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t care.

“Yeah.” Marina gave the elf moon-eyes. Garrett internally retched.

“An elf, sis?” he arched a brow at his sister.

Marina’s moon-eyes turned into deadly spears as she turned to look at him. “Got a problem with that, _Garrett?”_

Garrett swallowed, well-aware his sister was a badass lightning Knight Enchanter.

“Oi, Marina. What do you want for flowers?”

Garrett’s eyes widened at the visage of the bored-looking Warden – only knowing she was such a person by the sword on her back, its pommel embossed with the Warden symbol. He’d never guess that this elf’s sister was the famed –

“Oh, anywhere. Heard anything from Varaina or anyone else?” Marina disengaged herself from Garrett.

“Yeah, Thalia and Galifalon are on their way together – picked up a stray, but Thalia says he’ll be staying out of sight. Apparently he only joined them because he wanted to fight shit.” The long-haired Warden rolled her eyes. “They’ll be here tonight. Varaina’s joining them outside the city. She sent word yesterday.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake – I’m not going to let Fenris kill her,” Marina said with a sigh. “Doshiel, this is my brother, Garrett.”

The Warden stared at him.

“Oh. That’s nice.” She stretched her back. “Hey, where’s the –“

“No. You’re not drinking.” Marina looked exasperated, like she was quite familiar with her actions.

“Hmph.” The Warden stalked away. Marina groaned.

“Hide the alcohol,” she said to a passing Rivaini woman. “Last thing we need is for _that one_ to drink all of it before tomorrow. Where’s –“

“The bitch is in there,” the Rivaini woman interrupted with a smirk. “Have fun. She might poison us all.”

The Rivaini vanished.

“Who’s –“ Garrett started. Marina interrupted him.

“Our half-sister, Morrigan – and her son, Kieran, is around, so if you see a little boy that’s probably him, and if you swear around him Morrigan will murder you – is here. I met her when I went to see Varric a couple years ago.” Hawke grimaced. “One of the _most_ unpleasant women I’ve ever met.”

Garrett blinked as the door opened. The hall was cavernous and full of wedding shite.

He just recalled why he _never_ wanted to get married.

“…you really are going for an Andrastrian wedding,” he muttered.

Hawke shot him a look. It _screamed_ ‘shut the fuck up’.

The woman she’d spoken of sat in a chair, reading a book. She… was barely wearing anything – her breasts were _just_ covered by cloth, and as she looked to them, Garrett didn’t see how they were related at all.

“Marina.” The woman stood gracefully. “You must be Garrett.” Golden, unnatural golden, eyes met his as she approached.

“Morrigan.” Disdain dripped from Marina’s lips… until Marina snorted. “Okay, fair warning – Thalia is coming here tonight.”

Morrigan hummed. “I have no issue with her presence.” She brushed past Garrett and Marina.

Marina looked surprised – then their mother called.

Marina’s surprise turned to worry as their aged mother approached, aged only further since fleeing to Kirkwall. Mother had aged quite well.

“Marina, Garrett,” Mother said with a shaky smile. “Come, let us get together. As a family.”

Marina beamed.

~:~

Varaina dismounted from behind the stranger. Adhlea nodded at Geralt with a beam. Even Syven seemed amused with the stranger.

“So _this_ is the stranger you’re bringing,” called the Warden, stomping down the steps of Marina’s home. “Great. Another white-haired man.”

“Doshiel,” the Inquisitor greeted with her amusement tamped down. “This is Geralt. He’s been a good help on the road.”

Geralt grunted. “Where’s the nearest tavern?”

Varaina rolled her eyes good-naturedly as the white-haired man handed the reins to Adhlea; as soon as Doshiel gave him directions and he was gone, Adhlea handed the reins to a footman.

“Don’t let this horse die or Geralt will kill you,” she said, cheer in her face.

The footman sighed, then gathered the other reins of the other horses. Varaina glanced upwards and spotted Fenris at the top of the stairs.

No matter how much she wanted to, she didn’t run up and congratulate him. There would probably be time for that later – now, she moved with Adhlea and Syven, slowly; converging with the lethargic-looking Warden.

“Everything’s in place,” the Warden said. “You’re not going to be at the actual ceremony, are you?”

Adhlea and Syven shook their heads. “No, Marina reluctantly agreed that this is supposed to be private. Did you bring it?”

Doshiel arched her brow. “Did I do the impossible and get it here under a week?” She grinned. “You’re damn right I did. I’m invited for that, right?”

“As if I could keep you away,” Adhlea said, before smiling at Varaina. “We’re meeting in the chapel tomorrow morn. If you wish to see a Dalish bonding, well – now would be the time.” She paused. “Marina and Fenris both agreed to humor me,” she added.

Varaina nodded, eagerly.

“Who else will be there?” she questioned, wondering if –

“Morrigan and Varric. It’s more of a celebration between friends,” Adhlea admitted, “but there’s a bit more entwined in it. I’ve only seen it done twice, and once was _years_ ago. And I’m breaking tradition, doing this between a human and an elf… But, well. Whatever.”

Adhlea shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Just never, _ever_ mention that this happened to another clan,” Syven chirped, “or not even Isanami will be able to save our skins.”

Varaina smiled. “You can trust me to keep my silence,” she said, calm and steady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I kinda thought Morrigan and Marina would have like a tentative friendship with each other.  
> That, and I have half siblings myself that I like, BUT... I don't interact with them much. So Morrigan is that half sibling who, while being unbearable at times, still is invited to the wedding. Also, Morrigan is invited to the whole Dalish ceremony 'cause of who her mom is.


	31. Dalish Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a magical ritual for the elves is taken part of and Kieran freaks everyone out.

Garrett had snuck into the chapel early, intending on fixing up some of the decorations. Morrigan, her son Kieran who Garrett had only briefly met, some random dwarf – _wait, that’s the Viscount_ – Fenris, in a very Dalish getup stood with a brunette and two redheaded elves – all _hours_ early – in the front of the chapel. The two redheaded elves were dressed in formal-looking Dalish robes, both of their robes slightly more elaborate than he expected for Dalish elves.

He was quiet; he made no sound as he tucked himself into an alcove.

His sister entered in her day-to-day wear, with her weird blood-smear on her nose and paint decorating her body.

Well, no – a lot of skin was showing. But the showing skin was decorated like Fenris’ body. Glowing blue paint – _was that really **paint?**_ **–** stretched up and up, as well as down.

The brunette elf slipped next to Varric and Morrigan – staying _far_ away from the Wild Witch and her son – while the Warden caught Marina’s arm.

The two Dalish elves gestured for Fenris to step back; Fenris did. Garrett’s keen eyes picked out paint on his skin – only distinguishable because Garrett had a sharp memory and could remember the visible patterns on his skin from before, and with the elf practically half-naked it was easy to see – and what he saw was reminiscent of half a halla.

The visible markings on Marina’s chest – _why did the markings have to be on her **chest?**_ – glowed. A small amount of magic pulsated in the air.

“Who comes forth to be bound to one another?” The male redhead spoke first, sounding unusually soft.

“The adopted of Dinlaselan Manvena Doshiel Aleriel of Clan Aleriel comes forth,” The Warden said, smiling.

The female redheaded elf cleared her throat.

“And does Clan Aleriel accept Fenris Lavellan, the adopted of Clan Lavellan?”

“Clan Aleriel does,” the Warden replied. “Clan Aleriel offers the one known as Marina Hawke.” The Warden gently removed herself from Marina.

“Keeper Thalia, if you would do the honors?” the male redhead said, a smirk being tossed at the woman.

Garrett’s eyes widened as the woman smiled, stepping forward and taking a red string out.

“Throughout the ages of the Dalish, there has always been a certain sacredness in a bond,” Thalia said, her voice low but still echoing as the magic in the room summoned… a fucking _wisp._ What the hell. The magic was steadily building as she continued. “Today, we celebrate the union of two unique individuals, Marina Hawke and Fenris… Lavellan.” Fenris nodded at her hesitation, a small smile briefly touching the dour man’s face. “The markings bestowed upon each of you reflect both of you – Fenris, you have been branded with lyrium in utter hate. Marina has been bestowed the reflection with love. Marina, you have been stained with your own blood.” Adhlea took the arm, bare and visible, and peeled back the bandage. “And in love, Fenris will share your blood.”

Elves were fucking _nasty,_ Garrett decided, grimacing in disgust as the elf _dipped her fingers_ into Marina’s arm before _smearing the blood on her fingers upon Fenris’ face,_ in the same spot.

He didn’t see the wisps popping into the chapel.

“The animal on your bodies represents Lavellan, and the values the clan holds dear. In Keeper Isanami’s time it was Vir Bor’Assan; bend, but never break. In the time of Istimaethoriel, it was Vir Assan; fly straight and do not waver. As Keepers of Clan Lavellan, Keeper Syven and I both ask if you will follow the Vir Adahlen – _together we are stronger than the one.”_

She actually paused there.

“Yes,” Marina breathed, the very air fluttering.

“Yes,” Fenris, too, murmured at the same time.

“Then hold out your right hands,” the Keeper said, her eyes bright – literally, too, because Garrett could _see_ the glowing from here – as they followed her instruction.

“As Keepers of Clan Lavellan, know that our clan is your clan, and know that our kin is your kin.” As she spoke, the stained glass was suddenly covered as a dark cloud passed over. “We wish you many happy years, Marina Hawke and Fenris Lavellan, and I bond you together for as long as such a thing is possible.”

She wound the red string around the two.

“Andraste’s fucking tits,” Varric breathed as both Keepers clasped hands – a show of solidarity that froze Garrett in his tracks as Syven’s grey eyes glowed as silver as Thalia’s, more wisps brightening the dark room. The room was _perfectly_ even in temperature, even though it should’ve been roasting in this humidity.

“As Keepers, we bless this union.”

They spoke in eerie concert; and for a moment, Garrett swore he saw a flicker of green around the quartet.

Morrigan let out something that sounded like a sob. The brunette elf burst into tears.

The Warden looked… at home, a soft smile as she watched from the side, affected but not as much as the others.

“Okay, guys, what the hell is going on?” the dwarf asked, loudly.

“I second that sentiment,” Garrett said, stepping from his alcove.

And just like that, the spell – whatever it was – shattered. The wisps popped away; the cloud finished passing in front of the sun, and three people collapsed, as though strings were cut.

Marina and Fenris stumbled as the three Dalish elves dropped; a scowl formed on her face.

“What the fuck?” Varric said, turning a dark scowl on Garrett. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was _thinking_ that my _sister_ was in the middle of a magic spell that a couple of _Dalish,_ heretical elves were doing!”

“Magic is weird as fuck, but I’ll be the first to admit that while’s it weird it isn’t harmful to Hawke. Dahlia and Celosia wouldn’t have fucked around with magic they couldn’t control,” the dwarf scowled.

“And you fucking _interrupted_ them,” Marina growled. “Powerful magic like that isn’t something to fear, you absolute _dick.”_ Her scowl was matched by Varric, Morrigan, the brunette elf, her husband, and even Kieran.

“Mummy, Mummy! Can I tell you something I learned with Grandmother?”

The atmosphere drifted from rage to shock and fear as Marina, Morrigan, and Varric jerked to look at Kieran.

“What, Kieran?” Morrigan looked almost afraid.

“Twins are super rare in elves,” Kieran announced. “In fact, there has been so few pairs of twins that it’s considered an _omen_ when they’re born.” His eyes met Garrett’s, too evenly. “Grandmother said that twins are super powerful, especially magical twins. Auntie Marina and Uncle Garrett are twins, right?”

Garrett grimaced.

“Twins in human are rare, but not all twins are magical,” Marina admitted.

“Grandmother was right, though,” Kieran said, his tone reasonable. “Grandmother said that it isn’t about having the power, it’s about how you use that power. Like Mother uses her power to be a _del’varisha,_ and Miss Dawn uses her to protect the humans, right?”

“Kieran, it’s not a moment to teach your uncle a lesson,” Morrigan tried –

“Grandmother also said that humans will always hate the Elvhen,” Kieran pushed. “Because they’re more powerful than humans. That’s why you really don’t like the feel of that magic, Uncle Garrett – because you can sense what they are.”

Garrett stared at the weird kid.

“…what?” he asked, blankly. Everyone was staring at the kid like he was a new type of _freaky._

Kieran smiled, then turned away.

“Mother, I’m hungry,” Kieran chirped, sliding off his seat and rushing past Garrett with a blood-chilling smirk on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles innocently* So.
> 
> I have no idea what happened. Like, for REAL. I wanted the whole thing to be magical, and I guess it was? I mean... I hope you like it. I kinda went with this kind of bonding is Lavellan-specific, but the beginning details - like the adopted comments - were Dalish-centric and not just Lavellan.
> 
> As for Hawke and her use of blood magic - the most Hawke uses her own blood for is augmenting her spells. Her nose-stripe is always there because she always put it there whenever she's expecting to fight. Which is whenever she's out of her own home.
> 
> As for Kieran... Well, he did have the soul of the dragon god of beauty, and he was probably with Mythal for more than a few minutes - which always gets me, actually. I know in-game Morrigan is IN the Fade when she finds Kieran, but from what I've seen Morrigan FOUND OUT about Mythal having her son - which means Mythal wanted to talk to her daughter, right? NOT actually legit steal Kieran. It does have the benefit of briefly controlling Morrigan if she took the Well, but it also demonstrates the Lavellan's powerlessness against Mythal if Lavellan took the well.
> 
> Anyway, Mythal gave him a few good tidbits. Especially about the twins. Oooh, I just LOVE what I've written past this... NOT the next few chapters, THOSE are fuckin weird, tbh. 
> 
> Read and Review, please! :D


	32. Chapter 32

Adhlea could hear a strangely haunting tone in the Fade as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Not something borne of Thedas; it was a different kind of instrument – several at once, creating a beautiful melody that she couldn’t hear the words to. The music faded as she turned, coming face-to-face with –

She didn’t know what to say to him, she didn’t even know if this was actually a demon.

His surprise as he drank in her face clued her in that he was probably real.

Even if it hadn’t, the kiss and hug he caught her with brought her into close contact with him; his magic buzzed, far more powerful than before; similar to the power he’d have five years into the future.

 _You’re alive,_ she wanted to say.

But she also didn’t; the words caught in her throat, stopping her.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” she blurted out.

“I know,” he said, his face relaxing. “You so rarely ventured in the Fade, I could only assume when you did you had other reasons for being here.”

_You were keeping an eye on my Fade-wandering? Oh –_

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Solas, you’re… Will you ever use it?”

He frowned. “I am not certain –“

“I know you killed Mythal.” She averted her gaze from his, not wanting to see it confirmed. “And I know that the power of the Well was given to you. So tell me – will you ever use it?”

He shook his head. “I swear to you that I will do my utmost to never control you.”

That was… _slightly_ reassuring.

“How did you come to be here?” He gestured around them; Adhlea noted it was a War-Room-esque area, - similar enough to it that she had suspicions it was based on it.

“I’m not certain. I was… doing a Dalish ceremony, and then her asshole of a brother appeared and broke the spell –“ She frowned, her fingers briefly touching the extension of her _vallaslin_ on her face before she removed them quickly. “But it wasn’t _supposed_ to be a spell at all, I mean I was only drawing on the Fade ‘cause Deshanna bound those two – oh, shit, did I _actually_ –“ She stopped, offering Solas a sheepish smile, apologetic. “Apologies. I got off track.”

He was smiling. It caused a funny feeling in her stomach, like the first time he’d done that to her. The patient, half-quirk smile that indicated he was amused.

“It is quite all right,” he said, stepping up into her personal space.

She stepped back, bumping into the desk.

He closed his eyes, a slightly bitter laugh coming from him.

“And that is the proof I need that it is you.”

“You ended things,” she said, her heart aching.

The desk behind her faded. A clearing, outdoors and fully alive with echoes of birds, allowed her more distance – all the while facing Solas warily.

“What would have had me do?” Solas opened his palms.

“I would have had you _trust_ me,” she said, quiet. The aching hurt that had lurched in her heart and stayed there was brought out. “What, in all your mind, did I think you would do?” A thought occurred to her, and ice slid down her back as he shook his head. “You knew.” Why it had been so slow to occur to her, after so fucking long… Adhlea felt like curling into the fetal position, yet tried to stay on her feet as shame crept up her body. “You… you _knew. You_ answered my plea all those years ago.”

She felt _sickened._

“You should not be ashamed.” Solas’ face was hard. “I could not stop them, and I could not reach you without you being close to unconsciousness. You are a _survivor,_ and you have always acted responsibly with the knowledge given you.” He looked away, jaw set –

Adhlea _understood._

“There is always a grain of truth in stories,” she whispered, hand coming up to touch the wolf bone under her robes. _The story of Andruil, Anaris, and Fen’Harel._ “So, what, you pity a _shemlen_ elf enough to grant her power because of something like that happening to _you?”_

Solas arched a brow. “Do you think such a thing unthinkable, a woman taking advantage of a man?”

“I’m not questioning the _bitch’s_ involvement, I’m questioning your motives for helping me.” Adhlea couldn’t help but say it with vitriol – she found herself coiling to attack her as a phantom image rolled through her mind.

Adhlea shook her head, trying to keep herself from allowing her feelings to taint the Fade.

Solas didn’t seem to notice.

“You were an innocent,” he explained. “I could not stop myself from intervening. I did not realize it was you until long into our acquaintance. By then…” He shrugged. “I did not define you by what happened to you involuntarily, no matter how your choices were going.”

Aaand, okay, _that_ was a low blow. He was referring to her long-dead desire to join the templars.

She inhaled, flexing her hands.

 _I want to punch him. Really, really badly._

_But he just might call you childish,_ Ladara pointed out.

Adhlea scowled. _I’m going to do something childish anyway._

She stalked up to him and grabbed the top of his armor. He did not look afraid; if she tried to flip him, no doubt he would stop her. It felt cold in her hands; even as she thought it, he once more wore his normal tunic he had whilst in the Inquisition.

She stared at him before steering him down to meet her on her tiptoes, not forcing – giving him a chance to leave. She kissed him, just a small one – just long enough to get her message across.

_I love you, but if you continue down this road I will stop you._

He chased her as she started to draw away, pulling her into him and initiating it like he was planning on devouring her.

 _Like the other one,_ her mind supplied; and even now, her lips tingled as they parted.

There was a strange awareness in his eyes, as though he knew something she didn’t.

“I know you will try,” he murmured, bringing her into a hug. The action surprised her so much she could only stand like a limp noodle for a moment.

“ _Var lath vir suledin, ma vhenan,”_ she whispered to him before breaking from his grip and _tugging_ violently at the Fade around them, vanishing and waking up.

As she sat up in Hawke’s home, Doshiel was awake and looking lost – until she saw Adhlea, who trembled as her last words echoed in her mind.

Because she had a feeling that no matter what she said, Fen’Harel wasn’t going to try to find another way.

Doshiel smiled, melancholic.

“Did you know that I had to end things with Alistair and Anora?”

Adhlea shook her head.

“I don’t wish to be a side fling anymore,” Doshiel revealed, moving off her borrowed bed. “But… for the moment, I can be someone you use.” She got on the bed Adhlea was using; Adhlea could feel her hands slowly moving around, ready to remove her robes.

“Don’t.”


	33. Chapter 33

Doshiel simply meant to help relax her – Anora had always adored massages, after all. And if Adhlea preferred something _else,_ Doshiel wasn’t against giving her it – Adhlea was someone she adored, as a friend if nothing else. There was something so… _familiar_ about Adhlea, something Doshiel did not wish to acknowledge. No matter how many pieces were fitting together every passing moment.

“Don’t.” Adhlea’s voice was a gasp; she trembled underneath Doshiel. “Doshiel… Doshiel, the story of Fen’Harel and the Tree, it’s – it’s _true.”_

Doshiel paused. “Oh?”

“He basically told me what could be interpreted as Andruil…”

She trailed off, but Doshiel got the gist.

Some idiots didn’t understand the concept of consent. In the Sabrae and early Lavellan versions, it was made _very_ clear that Andruil took advantage of Fen’Harel’s bound state before Anaris came along. In the later oral versions of Lavellan, Doshiel knew it only to be implied.

But Doshiel didn’t understand why she and Fen’Harel were chatting about _stories_ and _truth,_ unless –

Doshiel got it.

She sighed and hugged her friend, a lump of sadness in her throat.

“When?” Doshiel wasn’t attempting to pry, but –

“I was thirteen summers old,” Adhlea whispered, holding herself. “Fen’Harel… he gave me the image of a wolf summoning and I summoned them and I burned one alive – Doshiel, there were _three of them,”_ she whispered. “I got help from him before I knew him, and he – he _saved my life thrice,_ Doshiel.”

“I’m only counting once here,” Doshiel said, trying to lighten the moment.

“The avalanche that I set off was another,” Adhlea admitted, “and he saved my life while I was in Par Vollen.”

Doshiel drew back, leaning around her to arch a severe brow.

“I’m sorry, _where_ were you again?”

“You didn’t know?” Adhlea glanced through the corner of her eyes, looking quizzical.

“No, I did not,” Doshiel said, silently swearing. “You went to _Par Vollen.”_

“I planned to kill the Viddasala while she lay sleeping.” Doshiel froze.

“You… _didn’t.”_ It was against every single code of the Dalish. Killing an unarmed opponent…

“I couldn’t.” Adhlea trembled. “I couldn’t – I’ve never tried to kill in _vengeance,_ Doshiel, I was so _angry_ and yet – yet it took her trying to kill the one who was rescuing me while his back was turned, someone _I didn’t know,_ to bring myself to kill her. I… I’ve killed templars with less provocation, and I should’ve –“

“I think I understand what you’re trying to say,” Doshiel murmured against her hair, pulling her into a hug. “You feel guilty for not taking the chance to kill the Viddasala while she was sleeping as revenge for Gaspard; why you felt the need for that, I have no idea –“

“He had no stock in this war,” she interrupted Doshiel.

“- but you’re also a warrior.” Doshiel set her chin down on Adhlea’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have been able to kill an unarmed warrior. You didn’t kill her then – you must remember that.”

Adhlea trembled against her.

~:~

Kirkwall was far different than the last time they’d been there. Adhlea, accompanied by Doshiel, walked freely down the avenues, eyeing the buildings and shops; Adhlea poked Doshiel.

“Varric made me a Comtesse here in Kirkwall,” Adhlea pronounced to Doshiel.

“Yeah, he gave me the same title,” Doshiel admitted with a grimace.

Adhlea smirked. “How mad do you think he’d be if I used the key to the port he gave me?”

Doshiel snorted. “Let’s _not_ get in trouble with Varric today.” Doshiel steered her to a Rivaini shop – knowing it was Rivaini, mostly because of the Rivain-style of clothes. Adhlea sighed. Not a lot of people were out; it _was_ early evening, the two elves having spent most of the morning in their room. Right now, Hawke would be getting ready for full, Andrastrian marriage to Fenris or… Well, getting married.

Behind them, both heard annoyed words.

“I cannot _believe_ the Inquisition remains here… Weren’t they supposed to leave weeks ago?”

Adhlea pressed her lips together, annoyance simmering in her veins. Hawke hadn’t mentioned – neither had Varric, Adhlea thought with dismay. The Inquisition _had_ been ordered to leave.

Adhlea turned from the shop, heading to another shop whose lamps were flickering on. She may have time to head back to Hawke’s, but Adhlea didn’t want to face them – not here, not now.

She only needed a couple things, after all – violence _shouldn’t_ be necessary.

She only needed to find her men, after all. And kick their asses.

~:~

Aveline Vallen arched a brow at the woman standing silently in the doorway. Never had she met the High Inquisitor, but she was damn certain her men wouldn’t have let the elf with the glowing blue _vallaslin_ inside the barracks without damn good proof.

“You must be Aveline,” the High Inquisitor said, her voice cold. “Where are my merry band of fucking morons?”

Aveline hummed to herself.

“So they _were_ supposed to leave after the mess with Vael?”

“They sure as fuck weren’t supposed to _stay_ and enjoy themselves on the Inquisition’s gold,” the woman replied, still coldly. “I normally would’ve gone through the front – _visibly_ – but I felt as though discretion was needed.”

“I still have half a mind to call the guards on you anyway,” Aveline said, the temptation strong.

“Ah, but then you’d _still be stuck_ with those idiotic twits.” Thalia Lavellan’s scowl deepened. “Let’s see how they do with a visit from their leader.”

Aveline chuckled. “They’ll be back in the morning; they put up a schedule of training.”

“Ah, yes… Let me guess, they’re out drinking. They gave themselves _hours_ of leisure.”

Aveline nodded.

“Well, then.” The Inquisitor strode into Aveline’s office. “Let’s make sure they regret it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...read and review, please! I live for reviews!


	34. Chapter 34

Thomas Longford was not a fan of the Inquisition – he’d only joined out of pressure from his father. His father, who had six other mouths to feed and an ailing wife; Thomas was by no means fit enough to work the fields, so why not join up with the Inquisition?

Of course, the Inquisition gave a small bounty in food and grain seed. Thomas would then be paid when he left the one-year service he was signed for.

Being sent to Kirkwall had been _terrifying._ For one, it wasn’t really during wartime, just – sent because the Guards of Kirkwall didn’t have enough force to repel Vael’s forces. Inquisitor Trevelyan had done something and had gotten Vael to back off Kirkwall… Which was run by a _dwarf._

Now, Thomas was also by no means an idiot. He _knew_ there was a damn good chance one of the Inquisitors would come looking, and Thomas also knew that having practically overtaken the garrison of Kirkwall guards was _not_ going to be looked upon lightly.

Thomas was among the first to creep back into his bunk. He was… _slightly_ ashamed of his own actions, but knowing an Inquisitor wasn’t coming for a _while…_

A worried feeling shifted in his gut as he stared around him _. There weren’t any guards._

He slipped down to the kitchens and paused.

The cooks were tying the pots and pans together. A familiar-looking elf stood with Aveline; maybe one of the Bull’s Chargers. She and Aveline were discussing something pretty intense; Aveline pressed her lips together and turned away.

Thomas crept by, heading to his bed. When he got there, he immediately turned around and stopped.

The elf that had been standing with Aveline was right behind him, her grey eyes severe.

“Name,” she said, her voice brooking no argument.

“Thomas Longford, ma’am.” He held himself up straighter. “I… I submit myself to you and await my punishment.”

She stared at him, unimpressed.

“I don’t think the boy knows who you are,” Aveline said with a grin.

“No, I don’t think he does.” The elf smirked. “Where is your commanding officer, boy?”

Thomas didn’t want to be known as the _rat._ He wouldn’t get in a good squad.

“Loyalty, I admire it.” The elf folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll inform Cullen to give you a lighter punishment than these other disloyal bastards will be getting; you may not get a punishment at all if you tell me the name of your commanding officer.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, holding up his chin. “But Inquisitor Trevelyan was the woman in charge. I will only speak to one of the Inquisitors.”

The elf appeared surprised.

“Okay… Okay.” The elf shrugged. “So, you won’t tell _me,_ but you’ll tell any of the five Inquisitors, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Thomas ducked his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re high enough for me to rat out my commander.”

Aveline snorted.

“I know,” the elf sighed. “Wouldn’t want to be known as a _rat._ My chevaliers bear a similar loyalty.”

**_Her_ ** _chevaliers…_

Thomas paled as he looked into the elf’s face.

“Forgive me, High Inquisitor!” He was so _ashamed –_ mostly of his actions. Serving under his commander was far different than serving the High Inquisitor. He’d heard, from rumors in Inquisitor Trevelyan’s guards, that simply being _near_ the High Inquisitor made you fall in love with her.

(It hadn’t happened to him yet. Thomas wondered, deep down, if it were a part of a spell.)

“I see nothing to forgive. If you are truly sorry, perhaps I’ll lighten your sentence and make you my man-in-waiting. Aveline, is everything ready?”

“They’re going to wake up pissed and with a headache, but it’ll be fucking worth it to get rid of _my_ headache.” Aveline scowled at Thomas.

~:~

James was aware he was in deep shit the moment Inquisitor Trevelyan left with her own contingent – just didn’t give a damn about how deep he was in at this point.

He was so pissed that he didn’t see the guards – didn’t think that was important. He didn’t see the hanging pots and pans in the door to the room they were using; the drunk battalion started to snore away.

And then –

James was up and holding his sword out as the ringing hell finally shut up. His sword was out, sticking in a random direction –

“Get them sober,” a familiar, vicious voice snapped. “Get them sober and put them in the cells while the High Inquisitor finishes… Whatever the fuck she’s doing.”

Fucking _Aveline –_ wait, did she say –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was originally going to be an epic shouting match, but I figured 'I don't want my poor Lavellan's ears to clang'.
> 
> ...yeah, readers. You probably know what I'm going to do next. If you haven't gotten the gist of this story... Well, I apologize. It's not like I've been SUBTLE.


	35. Chapter 35

Adhlea laid her pounding head on the table, welcoming its smooth coldness. Her temples had started up a massive drumbeat. For a moment, she just laid there - breathing in and out steadily. Fucking _shit_ this was _difficult._ Not the whole _writing to Cullen_ thing – writing in _Common_ was setting her brain on fire. She had to concentrate, scratching out the Elvhen word and putting the Common down.

Oh, she could not _wait_ to return to Skyhold.

But once there, she had no doubt Josephine _actually_ had work for her to do, not to mention that, ha, _little piece of news_ that Solas was going to break the Veil up soon.

Adhlea let out a small laugh, lifting her head up to put her arm on it.

Hawke had graciously lent her the office she used to conduct any ‘official’ work.

Adhlea doubted she’d used it at all, considering there was a large dust population; still, as she stopped laughing, it hit her.

_Solas was going to undo the Veil… How… How do I stop it?_

She closed her eyes.

_I can’t… but…_

The door opened before she could finish her thought. Doshiel slipped in with a relieved sigh.

“Weddings. Finally remembered what I _don’t_ like about them – was your wedding also full of veiled insults?”

“Which one?” Adhlea asked, dropping her head back down onto her arms from where she’d raised it. “And no, they were too afraid of Gaspard to mock me, even behind my back.” She sighed. “Of course, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did _now.”_

Doshiel snorted. “I’m just half-surprised Marina didn’t fucking _murder_ Garrett – she looked about ready to.”

Shouts were erupting.

“Oh, dear,” Adhlea muttered, hearing _Fenris_ and Varaina shouting. “I should –“

Doshiel opened the door.

“ _\- fucking insult my sister!”_ Fenris was yelling.

“Why not? You and her are both impure,” a new voice said.

Adhlea frowned and followed a curious-looking Doshiel.

~:~

Marina was near tears. There was a reason she hadn’t invited Merrill, and the look in the elvhen blood mage’s vacant eyes was the reason. Merrill thought she was acting perfectly sane. Even so, Merrill’s constant insults about Varaina and –

“ _Lethallen!”_ Merrill turned, a wide smile stretching across her face. Most of Marina’s guests did a double take at the two Dalish framed in the doorway – one tall and wearing the armor of a Grey Warden, the other looking almost delicate in her leggings and simple tunic.

Neither of the Dalish looked entirely… _pleased_ to see the third.

“You must be Merrill,” Thalia said, her voice cold and angry.

Merrill giggled. “I am! I’m so glad that –“

“Shut the fuck up.” Marina swallowed as a thick aura of power suddenly tingled in the room. The Warden folded her arms. “You give a terrible name to our kinsmen.”

Merrill didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, she turned to Marina.

“Our sister is here,” she said, almost dreamily.

Marina could _feel_ the blood draining from her face. Her eyes flicked to Thalia, whose face looked carved of marble.

“Merrill, _enough.”_ Marina stepped forward, bolstered by the other two. “Look, we can make you better –“

“I hear them,” Merrill said, her vacant voice suddenly becoming sharp. “You… you desecrated the Mother’s grounds!” Merrill pointed at Thalia, who lifted a brow.

“This is a _wedding,_ ” Thalia stressed, walking into the room. “We should not ruin their wedding.”

“They are _impure,_ they aren’t ready,” Merrill insisted. “The Mother has plans –“

“The _Mother_ whose grounds I apparently _desecrated_ is _dead,”_ Thalia hissed. “The _Mother,”_ the elf’s mouth twisted at that name, as though it were poison, “is _gone.”_

Merrill knit her brows. “I –“

“Daisy.”

Merrill jerked, Varric’s voice seeming to cut through the room easier than Thalia’s.

“Want a slice of cake?”

The dwarf held cake up, his other hand going to one of his –

_Sleep powder._

Merrill frowned –

Varric dashed it in her face.

Merrill should have collapsed, but in the mere second she Fade-Stepped, stepping in front of Hawke, her own dagger flashing –

Marina felt her body being slammed away.

A gasp, a gurgle… Merrill collapsed.

Marina looked over to see red staining Thalia’s tunic.


	36. Chapter 36

Doshiel bit her thumbnail, tugging at it with her teeth. Varaina was admirably calm as she’d taken Thalia out of the room – the woman’s stomach had been neatly sliced open.

Varaina stepped out, cleaning blood off her hands.

“She’ll be all right.”

 _All right_ was what concerned Doshiel.

“I’m worried,” Doshiel murmured.

Varaina’s features tightened.

“You were in the Sabrae clan before you were a Warden, yes?”

Doshiel nodded. “Yes. I was born in that clan; I was given to Aleriel a year after my return as a bride.” _Not that I ever found myself a mate._ “Why?”

“Helana Sabrae… Did you know her?”

“Yes.” The woman had never been as crazy as Merrill had gone, but – “Oooh, that’s your mother. All…” Doshiel trailed off, her eyes widening in realization.

See… She _was_ a decade or so older than Thalia (maybe seven years at most. Time was hard when one did not typically celebrate years); she was old enough to remember Helana Sabrae – young enough to have met her a couple times, old enough to be horrified (thoroughly) when she was made to copulate with _Revassan Boranehn_ – and old enough to have seen her death – or, well, the aftermath of it.

See, from her (admittedly blurry) memory of her youth, Doshiel had been intended for the life of a huntress. A mark of Sylaise was her innate fire, the burning passion – Sylaise and Andruil were the common _vallaslin_ for hunters, after all. Doshiel had been part of the hunting party tracking down Tevene slavers before she got her _vallaslin,_ training to become a hunter.

They had come upon the ruins of a tent, fire flickering weakly – a little elvhen boy was hiding behind a tree. In the remains of the tent, a small elvhen girl had been sitting, her wide eyes staring at her mother’s body.

Doshiel had heard of Keeper Deshanna’s claim upon the small girl upon seeing her before that day – when Deshanna came mere days later (Doshiel always suspected the Keeper of shapeshifting, but that was never proven), Deshanna’s lips had thinned.

“You should have let me take them earlier,” was all the elder had to say to Doshiel’s Keeper at the time. “They would have been spared _this_ agony.”

Doshiel had no idea what the Keeper had meant.

Doshiel had not _spoken_ to Thalia until that one day – when she was still Adhlea Kerrah Lavellan, young and experimenting with her brash clan-mates after Doshiel had gone back to Aleriel. Sabrae certainly hadn’t wanted her back (not that she’d _tried_ ). Doshiel had long-preferred to keep long-dead memories at bay.

(but it wasn’t working, because no matter how she tried, she couldn’t get _rid of them._ )

“I was just wondering,” Varaina said, hastily. “I mean, I didn’t really expect you to know her as… well…”

“Honestly, at the time, I was too young to understand much other than she had twins with a _Boranehn.”_ Doshiel didn’t try to hide the contempt. “Merrill was Sabrae. Pretty sure she got kicked out.”

Varaina tilted her head. “Wait, that’s – that’s actually a _thing?”_

Doshiel nodded. “They brand you if they kick you from a clan. If you’re an embarrassment to them, if you fuck up in a way that doesn’t go with them – if you’ve committed an act against the People, you will be branded on your _vallaslin_ in a _very_ bad way.” Again, apparently Merrill hadn’t told them – or maybe hadn’t seen the Sabrae.

Doshiel hummed to herself. Lavellan had been told to be the _shem-lovers_ of the Dalish, but one look at the history of one of its Keepers was enough to know _not._ Deshanna may have had a deal with the lord of Wycome, the town may have tolerated their presence –

The Wolf Pack had come out of the encounter with frightening new scars. Patchwork frost burns and the split-burns of lightning had painted a picture.

 _You dared to take what was ours,_ Isanami and Deshanna both may as well have written.

(No-one knew the full story.)

As much as the history of the Dalish was given, much of it had been lost. Aleriel’s many years of avoidance had given them the title of cowards – but Doshiel knew from firsthand experience that they sure as fuck _weren’t,_ no matter how much they’d been wary of getting involved with Lavellan.

Sabrae was known for their viciousness – they wouldn’t give a damn who was killed – and Boranehn for _their_ stupidity (which was actually true…).

So why… Why was Lavellan labeled ‘soft’?

Sure, when Doshiel had heard about the Lavellan Second being handed over to the humans to be a human lord’s bride, she’d laughed at the Second for agreeing to it. She’d laughed along with Aleriel – and then promptly regretted it, because she’d been dying and nearly became darkspawn and then the Blight appeared and the world went to hell; and all along, as she’d fought the Blight, Thalia had been fighting an enemy not as obvious as the Blight: the Empress and her Court, where a wrong drink could poison her.

Yeah, she lived in the lap of luxury – but she was an _elf_ in the midst of _human_ royalty. She, the one of lower status – _lower_ than low, given she was _Dalish_ , even lower than the Qun, whose Adaar, the beings with _horns_ and height that didn’t lend sympathy to its view -, suddenly thrust into the role of an elegant lady.

Doshiel later regretted laughing. Being the not-so-secret drunk paramour of Alistair and Anora had given her insight to the lady’s work.

Doshiel closed her eyes as she recalled meeting her again, so long ago in that hallway. A fellow Dalish, and she’d pretended – she hadn’t know _exactly_ if she could trust the younger elf. Better to put on airs than to trust the wrong one.

Many things had happened in quick succession – Doshiel had heard of Lavellan’s fall, Deshanna’s death, and had been called by Aleriel to carry the Keeper ceremonial items to Skyhold. Doshiel hadn’t taken a second glance back. Lavellan had a quiet dignity (depending on who you asked), and it was fucking _weird_ when an outsider with no knowledge of its past looked in on it, looked at its new practices.

One could say yes – Lavellan was soft, weak – at first. They would look upon its apparent need for two Keepers and sneer at it; and yet once they heard Lavellan’s history… Well, a lesser elf would run screaming from the legendary women who Kept it. Lavellan had broken its _own_ tradition of only having female Keepers – Galifalon Lavellan – _and_ the _vallaslin_ that adorned their brows – Isanami and Galifalon – _and_ the tradition amongst _all_ clans of only _one_ Keeper – both Thalia and Galifalon.

It hadn’t escaped the other clans that the Keepers had all descended from each other in Lavellan – each one different, yet similar. But different enough to know to mess with Lavellan, you mess with some weird-as-fuck elves.

Doshiel took another glance at Thalia.

“We should go, make sure Merrill is under control.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! :D
> 
> READ BOTH NOTES, PLEASE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Merrill is bonafide crazy in this. CREEPY crazy, too. So. Yeah. Fair warning.

Merrill crept through the darkened hall, easily escaping after she woke up.

She crept up on her fellow blood mage, carefully straddling her and opening her tunic. Her knife wound, stitched up, made Merrill smile – Merrill re-opened the wound, picking out the stitching.

Her fingers tingled with the other mage’s blood; Merrill finished her chore and placed her hand on the wound.

“He’s coming for one of us,” she murmured lowly, knowing the other would hear it, even under the deep draught Varaina had given her. “To take control – he wants one of us. You know it, don’t you, _lethallan?”_

She used her fellow mage’s blood to heal her wound. The wet blood slowly drew back into the wound. Merrill hummed a nonsensical tune, watching it heal – she pressed a hand against her fellow mage’s mouth as she awoke, Merrill drawing her out of sleep.

Merrill rocked against her casually, tilting her head as her sister mage tried to move, her eyes getting wider with every moment she couldn’t.

“ _Shh,”_ Merrill murmured, bringing out a flask – she took two seconds to remove her hand and force the other to take the contents. “Struggling will only aggravate your wounds, _lethallan.”_ She pinched both her mouth and her nose shut, ensuring the smaller mage drank it.

It was just another sleeping potion; Merrill watched as her eyes glistened, sparkling for a moment as they drooped again.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Merrill promised, her bloody palm going to the other woman’s chest and brushing a hand over it, enjoying the way the drying blood left a streak on the other’s breast. “You look good with red on you.”

Merrill leaned down, intending on removing the blood -

“If you wish to leave this room alive,” a rumbling voice hissed in her ears, “you will back up. Slowly.” A knife was pressed to her back; Merrill moved back carefully.

~:~

Geralt knocked the elf out, scowling as he moved over her to adjust Thalia’s clothing before yanking the troublesome elf out of the room.

“You found her!” Marina Hawke looked relieved as he appeared with Merrill in his grasp.

“ _Hmm.”_ He just grunted.

Marina eyed him for a moment before smiling again. “I’m glad Thalia brought you along,” she said. Geralt noted, with interest, Marina didn’t light any sconce as she walked confidently through the halls of her home.

“I wanted to fight monsters.” Plenty of fighting on the road, once they’d gotten a decent amount of land passed.

Marina hummed. “Set her in there. She’ll escape again, but hopefully Thalia won’t be the first one she finds.”

Geralt knew enough about people _not_ to question why this woman had a dungeon in her home.

“Who are you searching for?” Marina asked, slamming the door shut.

Geralt blinked.

“A friend,” he said, lowly.

“You ask me,” Marina said, turning to Geralt after locking the door, “the Inquisition meets a lot of people. Can’t sit around and wait for them to find you, you know – at least with a home base, you’ll have a decent chance of finding them, y’know?”

Geralt stared at her for a long moment.

“Why?” he asked. “There is no reason for me to go.”

She smiled at him. It wasn’t mean.

“Yes, and honestly neither did I. I went and didn’t regret it.”

~:~

Solas eyed his plans, moving along his pieces. Mirae had been a problem he knew he couldn’t afford to have, now and in the future. Mirae, he knew, had not been entirely honest with him – and he proved to those who followed him that he would _not_ tolerate anyone even the _slightest_ bit disloyal.

He glanced up to see a nervous Inquisition spy enter. She had discarded her _vallaslin_ – not her devotion to her Lady. 

And that… He admired.

“I will not kill you,” he assured the spy, “even though I know your loyalties are not with me.”

The brunette’s spine straightened, her eyes flashing with confidence.

“I thank Fen’Harel for his mercy,” she said, her voice calm and careful, “and I must be bold, but I must ask you, now that you know, what you intend to do to this world.”

Solas stared at her. “If I knew,” he said, at length, “that the Veil would fall naturally within a few years – with a lot of casualties – what would I need to do?”

The elf stared at him for a moment.

“Fucking _shit,_ time travel? Seriously?!” The elf face palmed.

Solas frowned. “I –“

“I was one of Leliana’s messengers, Fen’Harel.” The elf pinched her nose. Solas felt a shot of dread. Okay, maybe asking _this_ elf wasn’t the best idea; those who Leliana had a grasp on, even for a short while, tended to _die_ for the Divine. _And_ the Inquisitor. “My lord… I believe it would be best to consult with the High Inquisitor herself about this, if she’s involved.”

Solas nodded. “Thank you for the advice.”

What he really meant: _you were fucking useless, but thank you anyway._

Leliana’s spy grimaced and vanished without being dismissed.

Solas took a deep breath and decided to do something that was probably… not wise.

He began making preparations for the retrieval of the orb of Falon’Din.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I hope you read between the lines. Solas knows of the future because his future self kissed Adhlea while using a bit of ancient magic and implanted magic into her (haha, not funny, either. Believe me, it WILL be addressed), and when he kissed her again in the Fade it gave him back his memories.


	38. Nevarra P.1

Adhlea finished her goodbyes and mounted her horse, the first one to leave Kirkwall. She wasn’t heading back to Asarie, instead just wanting to get back to Skyhold. All of her felt like she’d spent more than a couple months – more like a year away. She flicked her reins and left Kirkwall without any further fanfare.

She was taking a path to Nevarra, first, then she’d get a boat and go to Orlais. She also had a plan to reinforce the wards; she dwelled on that for the first day or so of her trip… Which got boring.

Five days into her trip, the elf gained a company of sorts – a Seeker.

“I am Veritas,” the Seeker informed her, her soft voice at odds with her appearance. She was Adaar – which, considering the amount of Adaar outside of the Seheron or Par Vollen, was enough to raise eyebrows – with several obvious blades on her person. A big-ass sword was slung across her back. Adhlea kept Veritas in her sights at all times, silently wondering if she were sent by Cassandra.

“Thalia,” Adhlea said, introducing herself.

“I’m headed to Orlais,” the Adaar offered. “You?”

“Nevarra,” Adhlea replied, shortly. There was an awkward pause for a moment. “What has the head Seeker been sending you to do?”

“Lady Seeker Pentaghast has tasked me with fetching a lady of high standing and seeing her safely,” Veritas informed her. “A lady by the name of Lavellan. I must ask, do you know of a Mistress Lavellan?”

Veritas’ eyes had glanced up to Adhlea’s glowing _vallaslin._

Adhlea couldn’t hide her grin. “So Cassandra is around, then?”

Veritas’ eyes widened as she flicked her gaze back to Adhlea’s.

“I’m the ‘Mistress Lavellan’ she tasked you with. Out of curiosity, _where_ is the _Lady Seeker?”_

Veritas brought out an envelope. “Well, she knew you were going to ask…”

~:~

Cassandra hated dinner with her family. It wasn’t like those occasions with her Seekers, or the dinners with the Inner Circle in Skyhold. Even _Solas,_ the fucking arse, had been dragged out for those semi-weekly dinners in the mess hall where they all took up a table and ignored everyone around them. Dinner with her family usually led to her dying to go fight something; and as a family of dragon slayers, she itched to leave the dinner as soon as it started.

Usually.

With any amount of hope –

“Lady Cassandra,” a servant said, rapping on her open door. “Your guests, Seeker Veritas and Lady de Chalons are both here.”

“Allow them in. And bring a seamstress, please.”

The woman bowed.

Cassandra heard their footsteps and turned to the door.

“Lady Inquisitor,” she said, first, completely ignoring Veritas, stiffly nodding at the elvhen lady. The elf affixed her with a glare.

“My dear Cassandra,” she said, scorn in her voice. “How _dare_ you summon me like this! Oh, the _impropriety!”_

She fanned her hand in front of her face. Cassandra blinked. _Did I –_

“I’m fucking with you, Cass.” The elf dropped the stance and hurtled towards Cassandra. Cassandra automatically held out her arms, wincing as the small elf collided with metal.

“I have a dress for you,” Cassandra offered, still in the literally warm hug. “I apologize for requesting your presence, but as I heard rumor you were in the area, I could not help but want it.”

The Inquisitor drew back, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize, Cass. I was coming back from a rather odd situation anyway.” She shook her head once more. “I sustained a head injury. I must warn you I might lapse into Elvhen for half the night.”

“If you drink enough wine, nobody will give a flying fuck.” Cassandra opened the wardrobe. “Here are your clothes to wear tonight; I requested a seamstress in case you have need of one.”

The elf started to pull her shirt off –

“Inquisitor, what are you _doing?!”_ Cassandra yanked her shirt down.

The elf actually looked startled. “You’re a woman, _I’m_ a woman, I thought you would be fine with it as you have no romantic interests in women?”

Cassandra blinked – then remembered. Right. She was Dalish.

_Why do I keep forgetting that?_

“Ah. Well, when the door is open and we have another person in the room…”

The Inquisitor flushed. Cassandra realized it was probably hard for her to remember what… humans… did, as she didn’t typically have the issue of ‘impropriety’ being suggested. Her rooms were hidden from view and up a staircase and around a wall.

Veritas cleared her throat.

“I will dress appropriately.”

Cassandra nodded.

Veritas closed the door.

Cassandra pointedly turned away as the Inquisitor began to disrobe. She was in her own typical clothes and armor – the king indulged most of their eclectic tastes and various bodyguards.

“Nobody knows you are attending, as I sent a raven and the king is very strict on who reads letters sent by raven,” Cassandra informed her, hearing clothes hit the floor. “You have no need to fear poison or outright death. All attendees are either the other halves of my cousins or their confidants. If you insult someone, you might incur a duel and you might be killed _there,_ but poison and outright death at the banquet are forbidden.”

“Oh.” The Inquisitor hummed. “I’m done changing.”

Cassandra turned to see the Inquisitor. A brow lifted at the muted grays; it brought out the vivid red of her hair and the blue of her _vallaslin._ It fit around her like a second skin – slightly large, as was typical of most dresses one gave to the Inquisitor – and wouldn’t need any fixing at all.

“And what about Ser Varan?” Cassandra was aware of the heat scorching her face at the name.

“Ser Varan is on a mission to the Anderfels,” Cassandra replied. “Recruiting some people, helping with the local issues – he will be returning to the Seeker lodgings when he is done.”

“I see.” The Inquisitor arched a brow.

“…and he has asked for my hand in marriage, yes.”

The Inquisitor clapped her hands. “Good! I was hoping the two of you would get to that point.”

Cassandra’s eye twitched. “Do you not have your _own_ love –“ She stopped herself, realizing what she was about to ask.

The Inquisitor smirked. “Well, not really. I mean, I think… The Warden might be interested?”

Cassandra tilted her head.

“…may I ask about…” She didn’t want to ruin the mood.

“Oh.” The smirk faded. “Remember that injury I informed you I sustained?” Cassandra nodded. “Well, I sort of… Time traveled and… I saw him die.” The Inquisitor looked away, crossing her arms; Cassandra could see her hands clutching at her arms with white knuckles. “He died in the future and I could do nothing.”

“So is he dead _now,_ or –“ Cassandra really didn’t understand time travel.

“No. Solas is alive and well in our time.” The Inquisitor’s hand relaxed, a smile touching upon her lips.

 _Cassandra_ smirked.

The Inquisitor looked up and shook her head at the smirk. “No – don’t you –“

“It was _you_ who suggested you shatter his orb. Why not simply do that? Avoid the fiasco.” Cassandra shrugged. “Save time, save him, too.”

“It’s not… _entirely_ so simple a matter any longer,” the Inquisitor hedged. “You –“

Cassandra was interrupted by a knock.

“Enter,” Cassandra ordered, straightening as Veritas entered.

“My Lady Seeker,” Veritas said, bowing her horned head. “Do you need the seamstress?”

Cassandra shook her head.

“Then it is time to head to the banquet,” Veritas said, assuredly.

“Indeed it is,” Cassandra said, glancing at the Inquisitor.


	39. Nevarra P.2

Markus Pentaghast eyed his family – extended, of course, and only the very visible members of the family were allowed here, their significant others and bodyguards notwithstanding; he had not told anyone the people that were coming, even allowing for Cassandra’s vague ‘might have a very important person of Orlesian nobility’. He knew she would never bring anyone who might be a threat.

Cassandra entered the hall with her guest and Adaar bodyguard; Markus allowed his brows to rise.

The Inquisitor settled at Cassandra’s side. Markus allowed a pleased smile to appear on his face as Cassandra glanced over to him – not seeking his favor, of course; she was always so terribly embarrassed whenever he spoke about her at these events. She was trying to be rid of these things. Markus knew his extended relatives were immensely pissed off he always only summoned his favorites of his family here.

Chatter died down as Markus stood.

“Welcome, family – friends, guests,” he boomed. “We extend our welcome to each and every one of you.”

Cassandra hissed something to the Inquisitor. She nodded, reaching for her goblet as everyone else did in preparation for the end of his toast.

“I shall now announce the next in line for the throne as of now,” he boomed. “Pollux, my son, is the next in line. My other son, Castor, has been disgraced for his _disgraceful_ actions since last we gathered.”

“Who’d he wrong _this_ time?” one of his nephews said, low enough that Markus _could_ ignore it. He did, deciding tonight was not a night to ruin. Banquets were about the company and food, and the food had yet to come out.

“Probably someone close to the Empress,” another person hissed back.

“Now! We must feast!” Markus said, the doors almost magically opening and food pouring out.

Everyone raised their goblets and drank.

“And Cassandra?” All eyes shot to the Seeker with the _obvious_ Adaar bodyguard. “Bring your guest up here.”

~:~

Adhlea inclined her head to the king. “Your Majesty,” she said, folding her hands in front of her.

“My Lady,” King Markus said, nodding back at her. “Come, let you both sit at my side.”

He gestured next to him.

Adhlea did as requested (ordered, really) with all the grace she owned. Cassandra followed next to her, her face stone.

Eyes watched them below. Adhlea was just thankful that these people didn’t seem as _shocked_ by her presence like most others did.

Really, even after nearly a decade of her being the Lady of the Frostbacks, she was still given _looks_ by the Fereldan people – and, of course, the Orlesians.

“I have heard many things of Cassandra’s time with you,” King Markus rumbled, grabbing a drumstick. “Please tell me, are the tales of her leaving the Inquisition true?”

Adhlea glanced at Cassandra, who was fixated on her meal.

“As per my agreement with the Lady Seeker, I gave her leave to do what she wanted,” Adhlea replied, not touching her food. “It would be remiss of me to not give her that. Not after we killed an archdemon together.”

Markus laughed, bits of chicken flying from his mouth. Adhlea was used to this by the youngest of her clan-mates, but from a human she hadn’t yet seen such poor etiquette. People may think of elves as _savages,_ and the Dalish may in fact talk with their mouth full, but – _ew,_ they didn’t typically _spit_ it.

“As I heard, the archdemon wouldn’t’a harmed anyone. In fact, I heard two _other_ dragons joined that fight!”

“My clan-sister was one of the dragons,” Adhlea said, voice flat. Cassandra choked on her wine. Adhlea hadn’t intended on boasting about her clan-sister, but this man was just…

“I see.” Markus slurped his drink. “And what of the other dragon?”

_Wait a moment…_

Adhlea smiled.

“Why, another one of my kinsmen,” she said, turning her head to smile at the man. “And they’re usually elves, so them being dragons some of the time _shouldn’t_ be an issue.”

Markus laughed. “Ah, don’t worry your pretty little head, Inquisitor.” Adhlea clutched the napkin she’d put in her lap, twisting it out of view. “Cassandra has slain her fair share of dragons – what is the count up to?”

“Three,” Cassandra muttered, “without help.”

“Interesting!” Adhlea felt her fake-ass smile turning real. “Seeing as I’ve managed to kill a dragon-god, I’m certain that puts us on _equal footing.”_

Markus’ eyes glanced at her, narrowing at the corners.

She kept her fake-ass smile on her face.

The door burst open, a soldier in Nevarra colors racing in, hurrying up the banquet hall.

“What is it?” the king bellowed.

“Qun –“ gasped the soldier. “Qun, at the Necropolis!”

Both Adhlea and Cassandra glanced at each other and stood, Adhlea glancing at Veritas, who nodded at her.

The two Seekers and Inquisitor hurried from the table, Adhlea tossing over a sarcastic apology: “ _So_ sorry we have to run!”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an ally is a foe, and an old face turns up.

“Inquisitor, we have no time for you to change,” Cassandra said, halfway down the room. “Can you –“

“I can fight in a dress,” Adhlea scoffed. “What the fuck do you think I _do,_ sit around on my arse all day?”

Cassandra snorted.

“I have several throwing knives on my person,” Veritas said, in her soft, unhurried way. “If you’d like to borrow a few –“

Adhlea nodded. “That will do, if you don’t mind.” She turned and caught the knives the Adaar woman tossed her. “Thank you, Veritas.”

Veritas bowed her head with a small smile.

“The Necropolis is here in the capitol,” Cassandra informed Adhlea, gesturing at stablemen. They hurried. “Veritas –“

Veritas whistled. Her steed broke from the stall with a whinny, bigger than most horses.

“Apparently we’re all set,” Adhlea said, with a sharp smile.

Cassandra nodded. “Follow me!” she mounted her horse quickly; Adhlea followed suit. Her horse nickered as she flicked the reins after the Lady Seeker.

Adhlea had put her spare leggings on before arriving today; lucky, too. She cut her dress – most of the bottom layers fluttered to the ground, freeing her to quite easily throw herself from her horse as Cassandra did at the entrance to the Necropolis – graves as far as the eye could see – and follow the Seeker into the graves.

Night had long since fallen over the world, leaving Cassandra mostly blind.

“Where are they?” Cassandra whispered, peering about in the gloom.

“Further down,” Adhlea murmured, finally spotting them. “I have a plan.”

“If we summon the dead, the King will not be pleased,” Cassandra warned.

“I don’t – I’m not a _necromancer,”_ Adhlea hissed at her. “That’s… not what I wanted to do. No, Adaar eyes are not as keen. So long as we do not make a lot of noise, then we should not have any issues.”

Her eyes caught on the center of the Necropolis, and her stomach dropped.

“Cassandra… how long has that orb been there?”

Cassandra frowned. “You mean the statue of the First King, who used –“ She fell silent, abruptly; and Adhlea felt terrible as Cassandra paled visibly, even in the dark. “It is an elvhen orb, is it not?”

Adhlea nodded. “It is, which means… I’m sorry, but I have to commit theft of a –“

“Let’s go get it then!” Cassandra’s face _lit up_ at ‘commit theft’. “Being an enemy of the crown, I will _not_ have to stomach those shite dinners any longer.”

“Oh… okay, then. I also need a jacket that you don’t mind losing.”

“Veritas, I’ll get you a new one.” Veritas, who was right behind Adhlea, nodded and shrugged out of her jacket. “So how will you get there before they do?” Cassandra crossed her arms.

“Rogue powder.” Adhlea reached into her boots and removed the little pouch, shrugging the jacket on and proceeding to dust herself with a small amount of the magical powder. She stowed it back into her boot and hissed, _“Stay here, I’ll be right back!”_

“That’s fucking creepy,” Veritas murmured serenely.

“Yes, but effective.”

Adhlea knew she wouldn’t get there before they did. No; instead, the smaller elf slipped through the mass, holding her breath as she slid between packed bodies, seeing the many elves and humans and Adaar all packed together.

“Begin the incantation to wake it,” a human ordered.

Adhlea felt magic buzz in the air as the mass of Qun began chanting.

Still, she climbed up on the statue, getting close to the orb and feeling… _cold._ Like the very breath she held was being taken from her, as they continued chanting.

Adhlea shakily moved, sitting on the First Nevarran King’s head and putting the jacket around the orb.

It vanished from view.

“Archers! Aim for the head!”

Adhlea crawled to the jacket and gathered the orb into her hand.

She jumped, smoke appearing as her rogue powder faded; she landed on a big Adaar before using brute force to run out of the circle –

Into another group. She was shoved to the ground –

“ _Kill them all!”_

Adhlea spotted the orb a few feet away, still covered in the jacket. She crawled over to it, touching it –

“I wouldn’t touch that,” a deceptively soft voice said, causing her to look up. Veritas stared at her, her face blank.

Adhlea smiled. “I figured.”

She moved as fast as she could, grabbing the Qun’s leg and burning it. Veritas lashed out with that same foot; Adhlea slapped her knee, hearing the bone crack with the force she put behind it.

She then grabbed Falon’Din’s orb and began running, stopping only to half-drag a semi-conscious Cassandra with her.

“Leave me,” Cassandra tried – Adhlea tossed her onto her horse and slapped it.

“Sorry, Cass,” Adhlea murmured, hearing Veritas’ enraged yell.

Adhlea ran as fast as she could, seeing the hint of a glittering surface. They… must have activated an Eluvian that Adhlea didn’t know about – nearly impossible, unless it wasn’t them.

Adhlea poured on the speed.

She kept the orb in her arms as she entered the Crossroads, not wanting to cut Fen’Harel’s people off. She spotted an open one, and – even if it was the one she didn’t need – Veritas would need more time to find her. She’d have enough time.

She slid through it, stumbling and blinking in the daylight –

Wait… _daylight?_

Indeed, dawn had broken in this part of the world. Adhlea started walking through the grass, frowning at the Qunari statues.

“How went the procurement?”

Her heart thundered in her chest as she moved around them.

He didn’t look at her, looking over the edge of this quite mountain peak.

“Well?”

“I’m assuming you’re meaning the procurement of _this,”_ Adhlea managed to say, stopping next to the statues.

He finally turned, his expression guarded.

“High Inquisitor.”

“Fen’Harel,” she said before she glanced down and shrieked, dropping the orb out of its disintegrating cover. Veritas’ jacket crumbled to dust; the grass started to die –

She glanced up and saw his eyes flare, bright blue. He knelt next to the orb and placed his hand upon it – Adhlea watched with wide eyes as it shattered.

She slid behind a statue as a massive blast of energy shot through the air, casting a barrier. The statues around her shattered.

A wailing scream formed. Adhlea peeked around and swallowed.

Solas had a physical barrier up, but it looked like he was starting to strain. Adhlea knew the basics of ‘support’ magic – feed a steady stream to your comrade – and had felt it the first time she’d closed the Breach, but hadn’t _done_ it.

Still, she sat in the shadow of her statue and focused. Obviously, with a link such as theirs, Adhlea didn’t need to do the _ordinary_ thing – instead, she opened the barrier and mentally _shoved_ her magic reserves at the other.

His barrier shattered under the onslaught. Still, he used up what she gave him alarmingly quickly – and continued to draw from her.

She said nothing as she felt her power leech; not even when she felt the ground under her head.

She cracked her eyes open. He was hovering over her, his eyes sad.

“Why did you do that?” he murmured to her.

She swallowed, her entire body numb. She tried to drag herself up, but only got halfway before her arms faltered. He caught her upper body.

“You needed help,” she muttered, her throat suddenly dry. “Ugh… I’ve never… done that before.” She blinked rapidly. “I need to – I need to get to Nevarra,” she remembered, eyes widening again.

“I’ll go,” he said, his voice brooking no argument.

“But Cass –“

“I will help Cassandra.” He picked her up. “And finish the skirmish I –“

“You don’t understand – Veritas is _Qun –“_

Adhlea didn’t finish her words. Darkness beckoned, and she slid into it easily, even as the Eluvian shimmered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yeah, I was gonna add something inspiring here, but fuck it. This past year has sucked.
> 
> ........Solas is here for a hot minute! Ha! Fun times, amiright?
> 
> Happy New Year (and may all y'all live in UNINTERESTING times! Yeah. I went there. UNINTERESTING.)


	41. Chapter 41

Solas set Adhlea down gently against a tree trunk as he turned away – he hesitated, not wanting to leave her. Not like this.

Cassandra could wait. Solas knelt next to her, cupping her cheek and gently brushing her _vallaslin._ She did not stir; as low on energy as her body was, she would probably sleep for a week.

He focused, moving his hand to her neck, feeling the flutter of her heart. He transferred some of his magic into her – not enough to make her uncomfortable, as her very nature opposed his – but enough to where she wouldn’t be at risk of being helpless against a demon in the Fade.

Not that she was there, much.

He lied to himself that he did not look, those times when he settled for a long moment and slid into the Fade. He’d catch snatches of her before she was gone.

He’d seen her, once, soon after Par Vollen. She’d been watching the stars alone. He’d almost interrupted – but did not dare. She had one arm, and it was then he made his decision.

That, understandably, had been one of his… more ill-thought out plans, creeping into her bedroom to give her that arm; he understood her irritation with him. It was genuinely creepy and scary.

He heard someone coming – the Eluvian let out the near-silent tone of multiple people exiting, and before he let them see him poised over her, he gathered her into his arms.

“My lord,” Ithelan said, causing Solas to turn.

The assembled elves shifted as eyes darted to the woman he held in his arms. He arched a brow at them, his annoyance clear.

“What is it?” he demanded.

He knew he wasn’t taking her with him.

His eyes were drawn to the Eluvian again as it rippled.

Cassandra Pentaghast strode through the area, sheathing her sword and looking, as per usual, disgruntled.

“Make way,” Solas said, quietly.

His Agents currently assembled did not, but did not protest the Seeker’s shoves.

“Give her to me,” Cassandra demanded, her scowl darkening even further.

“And here I thought, Cassandra, that you would attempt to kill me,” he said, dryly.

His elves glanced at each other as the Seeker glared at him.

“I remain unimpressed with your wit, Solas.” Cassandra scowled at him. “Do not _tempt_ me. Killing you would not please the Inquisitor. Not yet – but rest assured. Your days are numbered.”

Solas allowed himself a small smirk to cross his lips. “What is stopping you?”

He did not expect her answer.

“You are not on the _official_ priority list,” Cassandra sniffed. “In fact, you are simply on everyone _but_ the High Inquisitor’s shit list. ‘Tis why I say your days are _numbered.”_

Solas stared at her.

Cassandra glowered. “Unless you want me to cut you down _now,”_ she suggested, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I can surely do that, as well. If you do not hand over the High Inquisitor _now…”_

Cassandra clearly did not care about the stiffening of his Agents.

“Here.” Solas stepped close to her. Cassandra grabbed his neck, her glove digging a furrow into his neck.

“ _Next time, Fen’Harel,”_ she hissed, her eyes aflame with a nearly Dalish-esque fury that surprised him. “There will be a fucking _reckoning.”_

She released him.

~:~

“I presumed such, after Doshiel broke my nose,” he said, his expression wary as he finally released Thalia into Cassandra’s arms.

Cassandra smirked. “I laugh at that memory,” she remarked. “And I hate you for it. There will be a _line_ of people, do not fear – Doshiel and I are the least of your worries.”

Fen’Harel’s lips twisted mirthlessly. “Doshiel and I have an understanding,” the elf remarked, stepping away from her. “I do hope we do not meet again.”

“I hope we _do,”_ Cassandra bit out, harshly, turning and glaring at the elves in her way. “ _Move!”_

They parted, their expressions ranging from shock to _what the actual fuck._

She closed the Eluvian with Thalia’s password, then found the Skyhold Eluvian – simply marked by a stupid-elaborate mirror. Thalia had insisted, due to most of the mirrors looking the same. The guards took a moment – Cassandra knew one of them, he used to be a templar under Samson – to stare before going back to their duties.

Cassandra murmured the password to shut the Eluvian; it stopped gleaming weirdly.

She marched out, caught their glances, and inwardly groaned. She’d have to send for her shit, or she’d have to go back to Nevarra.

Either way, she’d have to let some people know Thalia made it to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
> 
> i did not sleep last night. blame no fucking sleep on this. 
> 
> or y'know how i ended up writing most of this based on pretty much nothing
> 
> r and r guys pls.


	42. Chapter 42

The soldiers Cullen had _not_ dismissed completely sullenly and silently did their job scrubbing the arena floor free of any bloodstains. He nodded to himself, went down the checklist, and turned to Thomas Longford.

“Yes?”

“I’ve finished my duties, sir.” Longford looked to the side awkwardly. “What do I –“

Emmaera appeared. “Mamae’s back!”

Longford yelped.

“Careful,” Cole said, appearing next to her. “We don’t want to frighten them.”

Emmaera’s ever-shifting eyes turned to Thomas for a long moment.

“Hello!” she chirped. “You’re new!”

“I’ve been in Kirkwall?” he squeaked.

Emmaera nodded. “I know.” The spirit girl turned to Cullen. “Have you seen her?”

Cullen shook his head. “She should be returning in a week’s time, last I heard from her.”

He glanced at the other spirit – he’d changed out of the clothes the boy he’d taken his appearance from, instead going with a ponytail for his short hair. He looked better with Emmaera – considering they were both Skyhold’s resident spirits, Cullen didn’t blame them for their odd friendship.

Emmaera had changed from the child she’d been, instead seeming to be Cole’s age. Old enough to join the other spirit, but she didn’t use force. She was said to vanish and go to other villages. She _was_ a spirit of dreams, so –

“Well, she is here early,” the spirit declared, looking excited as she hopped onto the walkway.

“Shall we go visit Auntie?” Cole had been addressing her as such for about a year now. Cullen no longer bat an eye at it.

“No,” Emmaera looked disappointed. “Mamae’s asleep. She’s going to be asleep for a long while.” She lit up. “Let’s go get the stuff Amund brought back! Surely that will cheer her up?”

Cole nodded. “Let’s.”

Cullen watched the two spirits warp into the Fade before reappearing in the courtyard.

“Ah, yes. Don’t try to kill them,” he added, as an afterthought. “Emmaera used to be a giant spider demon and Cole’s… more apt to killing things if they threaten him.”

According to the resident _demon_ spirit, Cole was like him – only a human and a spirit. Part of both worlds. Imshael had smirked. _Bound to both, yet the rules are bent._

Cullen didn’t appreciate Imshael’s presence, yet considering even the _Inquisitor_ was afraid of him at times… He remained silent.

Longford swallowed. “Are… they _usually_ around?”

“Longford,” he began, setting down his board and looking the kid directly in the eyes, “there are two spirits and a demon spirit usually around. There’s also usually a massive number of UnHarrowed mages, so many Dalish elves, _and_ more than a few of the Avvar around. Don’t forget the templars loyal to the Inquisitor, her personal half-army of chevaliers, and the damned Grey Wardens.” He clapped the boy’s shoulder. “You haven’t been in the Inquisition long, so you probably don’t know that the Inquisitor collects a bunch of strays – and there are only three people you should never, _ever_ piss off here.” He paused. Longford just stared at him. “Number One to Never Piss Off is Josephine, the Ambassador to the Inquisition. Piss her off at your own peril, because if the Divine gets an _inkling_ her Josie is pissed off or upset, you will die.” _Probably screaming._ “Number Two is the demon-spirit Imshael. Don’t piss him off, don’t sass him, don’t fucking _look in his direction._ He is a demon by choice and an _old_ one, so – just, no.” Cullen took another deep breath. “Number Three is the Inquisitor herself. You’ve heard how she tossed Balanche out of his own home with nothing but a smile?”

Longford shook his head. “W-who was Balanche?”

“ _Exactly,”_ Cullen said, lowly. “He was a shit lord of the land. She broke into his home and made herself comfortable in it. Of course, it _was_ her right – he was stealing from her _and_ the Empress and the King and Queen of Ferelden. Point is, Balanche _fucked up_ and he was _gone._ ”

Cullen didn’t mention this had been _directly_ after her husband’s death and only a few months after Solas had slept with her and then broke it off (nobody fucking bought that the _Inquisitor_ broke it off, not even Cullen. _Everyone_ had seen her smile when Solas walked into a room before then, and when someone had asked her what happened, _nobody_ had fucking bought her ‘he was distracting me from my duties, so I had to end things’. Not even _Vivienne._ Thalia had been… _lighter_ in those months when she’d been head-over heels for Solas.) and left Skyhold completely.

Longford looked about to piss his pants.

“Just be glad you’re not her former lover,” he said, as lightly as he could.

“Ancient Elvhen _dick,_ he was!” Sera dropped down from the roof. “Have you seen Yenera?”

“Not today, but I heard she was going to talk with Maryden in the Herald’s Rest.”

Sera grinned. “Oooh, I want to hear what Maryden concocts!”

“I think Maryden’s leaving to go to Orlais for a month or two,” Cullen absentmindedly said. “I think she’s got a replacement. Maybe she’s teaching him her songs.”

“Oh, Krem’s gonna be pissed when he gets back,” Sera noted. “All right, nice to see you! Say hello to Inquisi-tits for me!” Sera took a running leap, shouted ‘catch me’, and was caught by a waiting templar.

Everyone always had to catch Sera when Yenera wasn’t around.

“Ah, yes – Maryden is our resident bard. She comes up with the most… _delightful_ songs. One can only hope the new bard isn’t _quite_ as bawdry as she,” Cullen informed Longford with a sigh.

Longford just stared at him with wide eyes.

“Commander, I think you broke him,” observed a passing runner. “Also, Lady Seeker Cassandra is here.”

“Thank you, Teresa.”

“ _What the hell did I sign up for?”_

Cullen sighed. “Let me buy you a drink,” he suggested.


	43. Chapter 43

Imshael could feel the wards _humming_ when she came back. He stepped into her room after the human Seeker had left, eyeing her and monitoring her health.

It was still odd, he had long decided. Odd that he could feel the wind, that he was _free_ – well, technically speaking. He hadn’t gotten around to telling her quite _yet_ what he’d done.

Not even three years after the fact.

Cole had done it – and while _he’d_ had the excuse of ‘not knowing it was wrong’ (though only Imshael and Emmaera had known he was lying, the new spirit not doing anything about Cole’s little lie), Imshael had no such reasoning to hide behind.

Binding oneself to another was an odd business. Emmaera had done it out of fear of that smug little fucker in the Fade. Cole hadn’t wanted to be banished. Imshael simply wanted to remain as he was – as long as he could. The binding process had been painful. He’d never done it – well, not as he had with her, hiding his action under a layer of illusion.

He could feel spikes of emotion if they were strong enough; and he’d certainly felt the spike of magic draining from her in the middle of seducing someone to his bed. He tried to make it a challenge – the one who could resist the most seemed to be the Inquisitor herself.

He may be the father of blood magic, but half his power truly lay in choices. Those made around him gave his spiritual side a kernel of control – made him calmer. Of course, no ordinary choice made would give him _much_ power.

He existed in the Fade, yet not entirely _of_ the Fade. His own choice – blood magic – had twisted him, he knew. No other spirit was strengthened by their nature – Cole was not exactly strengthened by acts of Compassion, after all. But…

He could not help but recall the past when he looked down upon her. He’d left the Fade to help another spirit – one who had been so new, and yet dragged out before he was completely ready. Imshael had intended merely to _guide,_ but – as was the nature of the non-Fade realm – things went… _Badly._

Choices – such as the one Adhlea had made upon coming to him and not choosing any of the things he’d offered her – had given _him_ a strange focus. On her.

It wasn’t the faint scent of blood magic that clung to her, even after years of non-use. No, while that _was_ fascinating, it was the web of choices that clung to her even now as he laid next to her, facing her. He could see thousands of choices – some of them made her utterly insane, others made her… different.

Every choice made other choices null, and yet… Choices were always creating new possibilities.

He hummed a tune, nonsensical to him, as he brushed a hand on one of the choices… The one he found he wanted above all.

Imshael rarely did not get what he wanted, after all.

First… he’d have to bring the woman here, and then…

Then it all should fall into place.

~:~

Adhlea opened her eyes to see golden ones boring into hers.

She jerked back, turning over and –

A yelp exited her mouth as she hit the ground.

“Are you all right, _Inquisitor?”_

“What are you doing in my _bed?”_

“I wanted to talk, but you were busy.”

She groaned, dragging her sore body up to the bed and climbing back into it.

“Then talk,” she said. “I’ll try not to fall asleep.” As much as she wanted to, anyway.

“No,” Imshael hummed. “I’ll survive without talking for a while. Would you like a massage?”

She froze, staring at him. He looked at her, perfectly serious.

“No, thank you.” She burrowed into her blankets and tried to ignore him.

It said something to her state that she actually fell asleep remarkably easily.

When she woke, he was still there, in a faux pose of sleep. Morning light streamed into the room.

“Can you really sleep?”

She was actually regretful she didn’t know that.

“No,” Imshael admitted easily. “Spirits can fake it well enough, but we don’t sleep.”

She moved, finding her arm across his chest under the blanket.

“Sorry,” she said, dragging herself up.

“For what?” She glanced at him for a moment. He was tilting his head at her.

She shook her head and stumbled out of bed, tripping on her blankets for a moment as she made her way to her bathing room. She entered her room again and blinked at Imshael, who was staring up at her ceiling; she crossed to her wardrobe and yanked out a set of clothes she could wear outside, then proceeded to change.

“Have you ever took the time to look at the stars?” he wondered.

“Through the astrariums, when we’ve come across them,” Adhlea admitted.

“The night sky is pretty,” he said, after a moment. “I never took the time to look the last time I was here.”

She yanked on her leggings.

“You knew he was Fen’Harel, didn’t you?”

She’d never quite gotten _this_ amount of privacy.

“When we met,” he said, at last, “I told you taking his form would be _awkward,_ and I must admit that I rarely take the forms of my own lovers in addition to that.”

Adhlea froze in the action of putting her tunic on.

“I found you interesting, not least of all because Fen’Harel found himself someone a lovely spirit would just… Well, honestly, Lath would do anything to find Fen’Harel’s lover. Lath was always a bit _involved.”_

 _Love._ Solas had known a spirit of _love._

She tugged the tunic down, putting a hand on the wolf jaw that remained with her.

“I did not say anything because I did not believe he would be foolish enough to sleep with you under pretense. Then again, he was never known for his _impulse control.”_

Adhlea turned to Imshael, a question on her lips.

Then she turned on her head, not allowing that question to fall from her lips. _It isn’t fair to him. He’s not –_

_“You want something.”_

She gasped, the spirit crowding her, his golden eyes bright.

“It’s not good to tease me, young one. Tell me what you want – _oh,”_ he breathed, a wicked smile coming onto his face. “Oh, I don’t mind at all. Awkward or not, it’s not as though we’re having _fun_ with it.”

The golden-skinned elf vanished, and Adhlea found herself staring at the features he wore.

“Oh,” she said, heat rising to her face.

Fen’Harel’s younger face smirked at her, and Adhlea was _vividly_ reminded of the conversation she and Doshiel had had a while ago.

“Striking, isn’t it?”

She turned away from him. _Now_ she recalled the face she’d forgotten in her dream – the one she _still_ did need to speak to Doshiel about.

“Yes,” she said, trying to choke down the emotion she couldn’t name. She felt guilty, remorseful – and she _yearned_ to speak to him, in person.

A shift in the atmosphere made her think he’d changed back into his current form; glancing back, he had.

“Apologies,” he murmured, his expression blank.

“It’s my fault,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh!” She recalled what she had to do, snapping her fingers. “Wards!”

“Wards?” Imshael repeated, dumbly.

“Wards,” she said, rushing out. She ignored the looks she got, only in her tunic and leggings as she darted out, glancing only briefly at the arena for a moment before continuing on her way.

The arena – so cleverly named – was about half the courtyard for practice fights against other mages, or a perfect way to blow shit up without injuring people. Or you could fight to a yield or unconsciousness. Josephine had showed Adhlea some of the ideas when she’d gotten back from Par Vollen – not that Josie actually knew for sure where she’d been – and Adhlea had implemented it.

Stones had replaced a quarter of the fighting space, and a small-range teleportation… magical… thing (okay, they’d apparently looted one of Dirthamen’s temples and found _teleportation_ devices that worked, mage or non. _How?_ Well, Adhlea only knew Hallen was on it.) that allowed the students to travel back and forth to Skyhold and the town below the massive castle.

Of course, Skyhold _couldn’t_ keep all the students at once. Josephine had done the smart thing and had a keep built – with mages doing a _lot_ of the finishing work – _underneath_ Skyhold. Clever, that. It kept the older castle sturdier on its foundations _and_ allowed Adhlea to go under and check on the students from time to time.

Of course, Adhlea didn’t let _just_ mages go there. She actually had requested everyone in Skyhold sit in on a lesson or two, mage or non. Josie had beamed at her.

“I just _adore_ that idea,” she said. “Making everyone get used to each other, hmmm?”

“No, I just don’t want mages scared shitless that a templar’s going to murder them,” Adhlea had responded, flatly. “Also, I saw something on Syven’s desk a few days ago – he stopped an attempted _Harrowing?”_

“Yes, it was almost too late for the mage,” Josephine had said, looking guilty. “I’m afraid we weren’t quite clear on _how_ this wasn’t a Circle.”

While Harrowings had been successful in the past, Adhlea had not wanted _templars_ around the people being ‘Harrowed’. The elvhen members of the Inquisition knew enough to keep the mages from falling prey to the demons – and yes, if it came to it, they also knew enough to stop the Harrowing.

The arena was for settling disputes – once two mages with a dispute stepped into the ring, one of the more experienced mages would activate the wardings and trap them. The wardings were some of the best Adhlea had seen, and since it was Hallier who had done them, Adhlea was inclined to believe his word that they wouldn’t fail. Halier had also said that Dirthamen had been particularly finicky in his research.

Given that Adhlea had seen Dirthamen, he hadn’t looked like the baby-faced, murderous, disgusting wretch that was his twin, so either the Fade had done him some good and he _might_ not kill them like Falon’Din or he’d just been too weak to go through with it.

Still, she was inclined to believe Dirthamen _had_ grown up, unlike Falon’Din who had looked _stuck_ in that visage, and that was only from Adhlea’s weird perspective in the wards.

She found the stone, loosely buried into the ground. Its power was… mildly strong as she touched it. Enough so that their presence was enough to recharge it, nowhere powerful enough to defend physically.

She hauled the stone up and frowned.

“Where should I put this?”

Imshael blinked at her. “Why not leave it there?”

She shrugged. “I think it should be safer with me.”

Yeah, she wasn’t taking a chance.

Even though the ward had survived, Adhlea didn’t want to take the chance – so she hauled it up, taking it to her room and setting it on her table.

Imshael trailed after her, looking perplexed. Adhlea didn’t say a word – not until she placed her hands on the wardstone and felt the world twist.

She could feel everything as she had then. She was aware of Imshael, a burning brightness in her mind.

Yet, instead of aching loneliness that she’d felt from the Skyhold in the future, she felt –

Curiosity. And happiness. A familial warmth she knew from Deshanna.

Adhlea let a trickle of magic sink into the stone.

**Author's Note:**

> All Elvhen language is an ATTEMPT at making my own sentences in Elvhen, mostly coming from FenxShiral's Elvhen Lexicon and the Bioware page on it (still... mostly FenxShiral...).
> 
> If you want to chat, I'm (@)skyrie (remove the parenthesis) on tumblr. I'm usually on there... Pretty much ONLY on there, tbh. Come rail at me, scream at me for what I'm doing... Whatever, really.


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